Naquadah Tipped Warheads & Banana Smoothies
by A.M. Richardson
Summary: Jack is captured on a mission, a typical situation for SG1. But this time he left something behind that Sam wasn’t.. expecting.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Naquadah Tipped Warheads & Banana Smoothies

Author: AM Richardson

Email:

Category: SG1 Complete Story. Set in the TV Universe up to S9 then Alternate Reality after that, Future Fluff

Rating: Teens

Content Warning: Babyfic. Mention of sex (though not graphic)

Season: The start of S9.. Sam was at Area 51/Washington

Spoilers: Umm.. loads as in vague mentions of past missions but nothing specific.

Summary: Jack is captured on a mission, a typical situation for SG1. But this time he left something behind that Sam wasn't.. expecting.

Disclaimer: Just playing, not mine, if you're looking to sue, you're looking in the wrong place, I have absolutely no money!

Status: COMPLETE

Copyright (c) 2008 AM Richardson

MANY thanks to my betas - Tricia & Arrietty. They found loads of mistakes, any that are left are mine alone :smooches ladies:

The story is dedicated to the four Kawoosh Girls, three online and one off. I won't embarrass them by naming names (also in case they are horrified by seeing their monikers to a babyfic fic, lol) but this is for you ladies, for your hard work, your determination, your talent and for firmly believing that the 'ship is just in for repairs at the moment :)

Premise: This whole fic was generated by a prompt in one those 'Make an Effort to Improve Your Crap Writing' books. The idea was to start a journal in the middle of a story, go back and relate the first half, bring it up to date and then complete the story, all in the style of journal entries. Basically an exercise in tenses, which I desperately need practice in.

In the end, it will always be for Ruthie x

It was one of those 'thangs' that wrote itself. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but if you struggle through the end, any feedback is very much appreciated xx

If you want the whole thing now, it can be found herein my livejournal aud(underscore)iris. You can also find adult versions of some of the chapters, illustrations and podfic, if podfic is your thing :)

SJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJ

May 14th 2007

Okay, Jack.

So Daniel said I should do this, so blame him.

But you know what? I haven't a clue what to say.

It was Mother's Day yesterday, and….

This is dumb.

Forget it.

May 15th 2007

So I slept on it and thought over the whole business again.

You know me; I never over-think things, do I?

Calculate.

Evaluate.

Extrapolate.

That's me. I'm looking for a neat little pattern and hopefully a cute little theory to make this sound sensible and logical..

… and I'm babbling.

I thought I'd try again but I'm having a real big problem getting the words down – but I guess if you were actually here, I would still have an issue with communication. Of course, if we got close, you'd soon figure it out faster than light speed.

I still can't say it.

I miss you so much.

Sam

May 16th 2007

Daniel just called me and asked how I was getting on with this - he can be so annoying without even breaking a sweat. I told him I'd bought a new laptop and then rebuilt it with my own version of security protection especially for this little 'project'. Ah, shiny new Sony VAIO, with your 7" screen, thy name should be desire.

I also spun Dr D. some line about the Nevada heat accentuating the nausea and although I'm convinced he didn't buy it for one minute, he stopped nagging. Ha. If he'd bothered to check, he would know that the temperature is about the same as Denver at this time of the year. Jonas would have known. Procrastination!Sam. Oh yeah.

I miss Jonas.

Do you miss Jonas?

I really want you here with me. Stay with me. I hope you're still alive.

If you think I'm stalling, you'd be right.

Love from Sam the Coward

May 18th 2007

I can't put this off any longer.

Don't stop me, I've had a banana and mango smoothie and I'm experiencing a sugar rush – I'm doing this before I start crying again when I'm coming down off of it.

The thing is..

Something new ..

Okay.. I'm gonna get another banana smoothie, brb (that's Be Right Back; I do a lot of instant messaging with Cassie)

You see, I'm pretty sure that I felt the baby move this morning.

I'll wait while that sinks in.

Yep, we're going to be parents. Sometime around the end of October, Carolyn thinks with her little charts and calendars.

Jack, I think perhaps it's time I started at the beginning.

When you left for that mission there was something you didn't know, simply because I hadn't had a chance to tell you yet.

I was waiting until I got back from Washington and we were definitely going to have that weekend together. Ironic that you should be the one off-world and that I was the desk jockey in DC. Maybe if I had been there, I could have stopped you. I could have told them to shove their 'diplomatic mission' and grabbed you hard and fast and locked you in my bedroom to make love to you for two whole days.

Maybe you wouldn't have been ambushed and maybe Ferretti wouldn't have died.

I can't bear it.

I'm not sure I can do this, maybe Daniel was wrong.

Later on May 18th

After another banana smoothie (don't ask) I've pulled myself together.. not exactly front and center, but it'll have to do.

Anyway, we were MIGS that passed in the night – I was on my way to DC from Colorado and you were heading to Cheyenne. We were to meet up at my place on that Friday and spend the entire weekend basically ignoring everything and everyone and having great sex. Lots of it.

And then there was that something that I hadn't had a chance to tell you.

I kind of suspected on the scheduled flight up to DC. I think perhaps the flight attendant also had a sneaky suspicion because I threw up into those little sick bags that the airlines put in the pocket on the back of aircraft seats that they think no-one will actually use. Well, I proved them wrong. Three bags later and I'm down to bile and water. And before you comment, I didn't have a big lunch g (that's 'grin' to you)

I should've sat with my back to the engine, or something.

Anyway, I did some quick math (and you know how good I am at that). Remember the Groundhog Day Hop we went to at Petersen? And we kinda let our hair down because there weren't too many people we knew? Perhaps I should say 'barely' remember as I recall Sambuccas, a Guinness cocktail (a Guinness cocktail?!) and something with a sparkler in it.

Almost.

I'm not entirely sure I remember a condom. And I did tell you I was coming off the Lunelle (injectable contraceptive to you) as it was playing havoc with my cycle.

This makes it totally all your fault that the sex was That Damn Good.

I do remember that I did a quick calculation the day after – actually the afternoon after we had surfaced – and I was sure I'd be okay anyway.

So, maybe I'm not that hot on the math after all.

Lock'n'Load, baby.

And just what do you put in your sperm, O'Neill? Naquadah tipped warheads or what?

After we had said goodbye on the tarmac that weekend, I went on my oblivious merry way, back to Nevada, and I'm fine.

I miss a period. No problem. I blame the Lunelle.

But then a couple of weeks later, maybe three, there was the whole barfing all the way to DC thing.

And more quick math. 2+276

So, on the way to my bunk at the Pentagon visitors quarters, I stop by a drugstore (not the Kwik-E-Mart, sadly) – much to the amusement of the staff driver who'd been detailed to pick me up, because I practically ran in.

I wonder if he guessed?

Anyway, I take my little 'package' into the ladies room near the Pentagon Army Library (hey, it was the closest!) and you wouldn't believe how much my hands were shaking. If you had seen that, there would have been no way you would have let me anywhere near that mine in the Tobin system four years ago; I would have blown us all to Netu. Remember that mission? Is that the one where Dad came and Daniel declared himself the Wizard of Oz? Sometimes it seems like only yesterday and other times, so very long ago now.

So I pee on this strip – do you have any idea what a mid-stream sample is and how difficult it is to get your water on the mark?

And I get a smiley. What happened to a blue line? I GET A DAMN SMILEY, for crying out loud!

And I look at the smiley.

And cry over it. Lots.

I have no idea at this point whether I'm crying because I'm happy or sad.

But I do know that I desperately wanted to talk to you.

I'm late for the briefing and Paul Davis must have sensed something because he hovered around me all afternoon offering me Evian and M&Ms and just generally bugging me because all I could think about was my purse nursing a little stick with a smiley and my pee on it, all wrapped up in regulation toilet tissue.

I'm pregnant.

I know that our relationship is going well - very well – but we hadn't really got around to that bit yet. It's shiny and new and very discrete. I have no idea whether you want any more children, I have no idea how you would feel being 'stuck' with me – and I'm making an assumption that you'd want to stick around and...

… and I'm firing too soon with that discussion.

I'm sorry, I'm leaving it there; I'm crying again.

I love you

Sam.

May 19th 2007

Me again. I'm not crying and there are no banana smoothies in the vicinity.

Daniel called me last night and we talked a lot. I told him what I was doing with this journal thingy, whatever you want to call it, and he sounded pleased. He keeps telling me that when you get back you will want to know everything about what happened when you weren't here and that you will also want to know every detail about the baby and how I felt at the time.

Easy for him to say. Not so easy to write.

We didn't say that we both have thought at some point that you were probably dead and that he was encouraging me to get my thoughts down to keep me occupied while I'm in Nevada. Did I tell you I was at Area 51? I think I did. Working on the Hermes, which you haven't seen yet and you'll think is very cool.

I think you're still alive.

I have to think that.

I have to hope that.

Anyway, back to March, that smiley and that Pentagon briefing.

The discussion centered on the Hermes - a smaller, light speed version of the Daedalus, designed for galaxy-to-galaxy hops using the Intergalactic Gate (Did you know that McKay calls it the McKay-Carter Bridge? The arrogance of that man! Why isn't it Carter-McKay...? I want top billing!). It's longer than a puddle jumper, designed to carry approximately 30 personnel plus equipment. Project codename Hermes. Like I said, very cool.

Anyway, I'm almost sure I said some things during the briefing and hopefully they sounded intelligent, like I was actually paying attention… not.

I. AM. PREGNANT.

I am pregnant with your baby. And I love you so much and I want to share everything with you.

I was happy though; a quiet, joyful happiness squashing down all the thoughts that surfaced later.

When I got back to my billet, I lay down on the bed and started to really think about the situation.

I'm under no illusions that I'm relatively old to be a first-time mom, (apparently I'm an 'elderly prima gravida', don'tcha think that sounds so sexy?) and I'm vaguely aware that there could be complications arising from that fact. Down's syndrome I thought at the time, but later I learned that there can be other complications; a greater risk of miscarriage, pre-eclampsia, intervention at the birth. Enough of that for now – I'll explain later.

I take another test and I'm still getting a smiley.

Yeah, basically, I'm – 'we're' if you want to be all post modern about it – pregnant with your second child. I had basically assumed that children were not going to figure in Sam Carter's life; any hope of that had died with the end of my engagement to Pete. And it was a hope – I've always liked kids and had never discounted the possibility up until then. It's just that Life and the Universe had got in the way of any domestic-type plans.

Have I just made the biggest, scariest, most nerve-racking mistake of my entire life?

I blame the Guinness cocktails.

I really wanted to talk to you.

Your lover, Sam

Xx

May 20th 2007

Jack, I've read over what I've typed already and apart from sounding like an abject coward, it seems as though scientists have no need for the correct use of tenses.

So, I wasn't an English major – get over it.

To continue where I left off: I did not in fact cry myself to sleep that night; I think that I was just too wrung out and felt so awful. And ecstatic.

But you know what? I woke up the next day feeling much more philosophical and even-tempered, so it's Hi-Ho Hi-Ho, it's off to work I go. I can pretty much immerse myself in my workload. Almost; but not quite. During lunch, I high tail back to a drugstore and pick up another little packet. Actually I buy two.

Back to the ladies.

Pee on strip.

Check for smiley.

Still smiley.

Still pregnant.

Take out another strip.

Pee.

Check.

Smiley.

Still pregnant.

I get the idea that doing two tests one after the other is not going to change the result and I hate that damn smiley by now!

I really wanted to talk to you.

I'm due back at the CMC on Friday morning and if you'll remember, we had a hot date for sex, sex and, oh, more sex the whole damn weekend. The next two days pass in a total blur and I can hardly wait to get back to you and tell you, although I have absolutely no real idea what your reaction would be. I manage to hitch a lift on a Hercules C-130 cargo transport out of Washington, a relief, because there's hardly anyone about to see me barfing up in the head again. I knew that you were due back from your mission around Friday lunchtime and after your de-brief, you were supposed to be coming back to Casa Carter. I figure I can head you off at the pass and surprise you at Cheyenne. Perhaps in some random storage closet or so.

I was the one that was... surprised.

I walk into the control room, it's the usual controlled chaos, condition code red... but this time you were MIA, Ferretti and an SF was fighting for their lives in the infirmary and another SF was dead, killed trying to protect you.

Some diplomatic mission.

I stood there in that room, with all the mêlée, the shouting and that blood stained wire grating… the sticky crimson globs dripping onto the polished floor beneath. I am effectively useless. I have no knowledge of the mission, I can't just demand the intelligence, and screaming TELL ME WHERE HE IS; HE'S THE FATHER OF MY CHILD. No-one has any idea that we are together, let alone anything else; we did such a good job of keeping 'us' quiet.

I talk with Landry, I sit with Ferretti for a while, just like I did all those years ago after the second Abydos mission. I thanked him for doing his best. I told him that I always respected him as an officer, and I held his hand while he choked to death as his lungs disintegrated.

I requested a bed at the CMC for the night.

When I ascertained I didn't have a bunkmate, I locked the door behind me, buried my face in the scratchy Government Issue blankets, and fell apart.

I have no substance. I am so ripped to shreds. Neutrinos pass right on by me.

No more ATM (at the moment).

I love you,

Sam

xx

May 20th 23:13 hours

It became rapidly obvious that you are essentially lost, captured by some faceless enemy. I shuttle back and forth between Colorado and Nevada and try to keep up with the news, saying nothing about you, me and Baby makes three. Teams are sent through the 'gate on recon and on intel missions, and Landry brings in Cameron Mitchell who manages to persuade Teal'c and Daniel to come back to reform SG1 and go out and help. He calls yours truly, but I manage to plausibly worm my out of that (I'm under General Kerrigan at Area 51, remember?). You are reported as MIA and I take a further seven pregnancy tests on and off during the next four weeks and the result is always the same and I studiously avoid the mission lists. I still say nothing to anybody. No, not even Daniel. Just calling Cassie and explaining you were MIA was hard enough. Actually, I nearly 'fessed up to Teal'c once; he has been very kind the whole time, but no, I don't breathe a word, I carry on as normal. I can't tell our friends and I don't know why. I have developed a phobia against all little yellow faces and have visions of driving their cheeky winsome countenances deep into gravelly dirt and crushing their cute little button noses.

Why don't I tell anybody? Why didn't I at least see a doctor? About the baby, that is, not about the smiley's.

Because of course, Jack, I wanted you to be the first to know; I was waiting until you came back.

Then there's the ol' 'I'm pregnant and the father is MIA at the moment' thing. A conversation killer if ever there was one, I thought, so best not start. Plus, I didn't really feel pregnant, just rather off-color and pre-occupied.

What I can't get my head round is the reality that you are not here and I cannot discuss this with you. Sometimes, as I did then, I picture your face in my mind and run through the scenario of you strolling back through the 'gate like you're late for the annual CMC hog roast and then me telling you that you are to be a dad again. I try to think like you – would you be sad because all you can think about is Charlie, would you be angry because we are way too old to have slipped up in that way, or.. would you be happy? Would you be so over the moon that your grin would show those deep cheek dimples that have always made my heart beat a little faster, and would you touch my face like when we kissed for the first time? I mean really kissed. Us as opposed to our alternative selves, or time slip selves and ourselves without any alien intervention or cranial contusion-induced hallucination.

If I close my eyes, I can hear the whippoorwills now, Jack, their calls sounding over the lake in the darkness that first night at the cabin. It had been so hot that day yet it was cold near the water. I had brought you a cup of coffee as you sat on the dock after supper and I remember the way your eyes looked when you thanked me for the drink but you knew that I knew that I hadn't come out with the cup to ensure you kept up with your liquid quota for the day. It was more that Teal'c and Daniel were otherwise occupied in the cabin teaching themselves canasta of all things, and that I was really hoping that you would say something nice or at least rip my top off and suck my nipples, but we kissed instead. Sweet and tender, my hand on your heart and yours on my face, your thumb over my ear and those gorgeous fingers wrapped around my neck. We couldn't take things much further then; it wouldn't have been fair on our friends but we stuck with the hugs and stolen kisses and that one early morning by the woodshed where you did manage to suck my nipples and finish chopping all the wood for the day. Ha! I love a man that can multi-task.

How will you react? I can imagine the scenarios, Jack, but I don't know which is the right one. Later I talked with some good friends of yours, and I listened, but truthfully, I still don't know.

Incidentally, timeline-wise, are you following me? Basically, I was seven weeks along at that time (although at the time I thought I was five; it's complicated – I'll get to the date thing in a bit) pregnant when I take the first tests. As I said, I told no-one for four weeks, not a soul. But it's hard. The barfing thing was under control as long as I didn't get into a moving vehicle. This made the drive to the mountain interesting and punctuated, but I was just so grateful no-one asked me to fly anywhere. My breasts were suddenly huge. In fact looks down they still are, oh boy, you would love my breasts. Me? Not so much. They ache and pull and I've just recently spent a fortune on two bras that could support an F-250. I had an irritating stinging sensation on my right side that just didn't want to go away and made me want to pee at the most inopportune moments. Yeah, Daniel, that's just a mighty fine PowerPoint presentation, but do you mind if I just pee right here on the briefing room carpet?

The one thing that didn't happen is a bump. To be more specific, a baby bump. I have one now, of course, only a little one, but it took its time appearing. I would lie in the bath with my hand rubbing my stomach up and down, feeling for more of a curve than usual. In fact, I lost quite a bit of weight in the beginning. Nausea, vomiting, literally being worried sick over where you were, (or indeed, if you still 'were') ensured that I didn't gain much weight to start with. I guess that helped to ensure that no-one had the least idea that I was preggers, as I looked thinner than I had done for years. Cam kept bringing me slabs of apple pie that his mom sent him, Teal'c kept me well supplied with Belgian chocolate and Daniel, well, Daniel kept trying to get me drunk on cheap Chardonnay. I cried him off so many times; I had a stomach upset, I needed to be up early for so many breakfast briefings it was ridiculous - he must have suspected something. I hung around the SGC trying to make myself useful while Landry organized search teams for you but also just gets on with the business at hand; after all, we've lost people before, haven't we? Dancing around off-world operations ensured I avoided the infirmary and Carolyn's pre-mission medicals, relatively easy since I was still technically seconded to Area 51.

But you know I couldn't keep my special little secret a secret for ever.

It's late and I'm gonna go catch some shuteye,

Love you, father of my child,

Sam

xxxx

May 22nd 2007

No entries for a coupla days - been busy. Don't worry, I'm taking it easy.

As I said, I couldn't hide it for ever. Things came to a head at 11 weeks. Not 11 weeks after you went missing, 11 weeks pregnant, you had been MIA for 4 weeks, are you following this? I either spent the time thinking about you and being pregnant or doing a really good job of immersing myself in work and pretending I'm not pregnant. I'm managing my schedule so well that I can spend more time in Colorado than Area 51, but all the journeys to and fro are quite frankly debilitating.

So… I get a call at home on a Friday – I'd just got back from Nevada - from Sgt. Harriman. Can I please attend an emergency briefing at the SGC? Now? I try to make it along the parkway without barfing up more than twice and when I walk into the briefing room, there's a buzz.

Teal'c, Cam and SG7 think they've found you.

My head swims, and I make to a chair before my knees go entirely.

Everyone is chatter, chatter. SG7 are still off-world following up some more intel and General L wants a team to rendezvous with them early the next morning. Daniel Jackson is heading back from England where he was visiting Sarah Gardner. (She's doing really well, by the way and loves being back in Cambridge).

He reads out my name as group commander.

Crap.

Of course, he was just trying to include me; he's not dumb and knows we have a special relationship… although he has no idea how special. I sat in that chair being attentive and contributive for the entire briefing even though my mind is spinning like a centrifuge.

Thanks for trying to involve me, sir, but I'd rather not risk my unborn child on a potentially fatal rescue mission.

I hung about after the briefing, having to wait until all the hangers-on had dispersed. Harriman is flapping around like some attentive moth - I wanted to scream at him: "JUST FREAKING GO, WILL YA!"

Finally, the room is empty apart from Landry and me. He looks at me and I look at him and he knows something's up. "In my office, Sam," he says and pushes the door further open to allow me gentlemanly access to his command center. Yes, I do like that chivalry coming from Landry; so senior and Ivy League – it reminds me of my dad.

I'm so nervous, I can't sit down. I remember to hold my arms at my sides, because if I didn't, I knew that they would be twisted up like a pretzel. I am practiced at not showing any nervousness, but then, you know that. All those years facing up the male pilots at flight school, heading all male briefings and Academy lectures have made me cultivate an air of 'I'm a bitch that is all that so just don't bother with wisecracks'. I can do this; I am an adult after all.

Landry is saying something to me. I get the feeling it's not the first time he's said it. Damn; his mouth is moving and I can hear him making noises, but it doesn't make sense. He points to a chair. Chair. Sit. He wants me to sit down! How many times did he ask me? My blood is roaring in my ears and the room is spinning, please, no, I don't want to barf all over his Govt. issue short pile, high traffic carpet. I feel as though I should stand – after all, this confession is going to be on the record.

But I sit anyway. Mainly because my knees are knocking together and I'm worried the noise might drown out the conversation.

"Something on your mind, Colonel?" he asks with the practiced ease of a commander that knows that damn right there is.

Ohyasureyabetcha.

It's gotta be now or he'll eventually get the message when I'm the size of Minnesota, waddling around the SGC eating my soon-to-be-considerable weight in Oreos. I sit with my back straight, knees pressed together, and my hands folded in front of me.

"It's about the S&R for General O'Neill," I faltered out.

He sits back and steeples his beefy hands on the familiar desk. "I thought it might be."

And he waits. He's waiting for an explanation. Geez, I'm smart.

I take a deep but discrete breath. "I regret to inform you, sir, that I will have to sit out this mission. At this time. I mean... I'm sorry, I can't go. Sir." Wow, I hadn't moved anything but my mouth; how's that for control?

Landry's eyebrows moved. The man has wonderful eyebrows; like two rare, hirsute caterpillars totally at home on his forehead. "Are you telling me you're refusing a command?" The normally genial blue eyes glinted like pieces of flint.

"Yes I am. What I mean to say is no, not refusing exactly..." Crap. This was not going well. I shifted in my seat and his eyes narrowed.

"I'm waiting, Colonel."

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I was definitely going to be sick. I was sure I was as white as a sheet.

Landry must have noticed too because when I looked up, his expression was softer. "I thought you would jump at the chance to rescue an ex-teammate." He chose his words carefully; kudos to him.

"Normally I would have indeed, sir. But you see there is a very good reason why I can't head the team on this occasion." I ploughed on; fixing my center of vision somewhere above General L's left shoulder. "You see, I'd fail the medical."

The General sat right back and his caterpillars dropped a centimeter. He wasn't expecting that.

"The medical?" he clarified.

I nodded, by way of explanation.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

His voice was so soft, so full of concern, so un-military and so unexpected that it was nearly my undoing. The tears were welling... were my eyes glistening?

"I'd fail the medical." My vision was blurring.

"You said that." The steepled hands had disconnected and were resting on his blotting pad.

"I'd fail the medical because I'm p..p.."

ohnomynervehasfailedme

"Pregnant."

For a moment I saw an expression of happiness. But then the experienced General snapped it off, in response to my corresponding expression of misery, I suppose.

"I see," he acknowledged. After a minute he added; "Are you sure?"

I was careful not to nod like a crazy woman. "Well, I've done several of those test things and I've had all the symptoms, I think I'm about nine weeks along-"

"What I meant was, have you seen a doctor?"

Damn.

"Not yet, I thought it was too soon." The admission made blood rush to my cheeks.

"Oh, Sam." The eyebrows dropped again.

Squirming, I tried to placate. "I had intended to. In fact, I was going to make an appointment for next week."

"Please promise me that you will. I know Carolyn can come across as prickly sometimes but she's a damn fine doctor and discrete as hell. Of course, I'll reconsider the mission list – what about Colonel Reynolds?"

I nodded quickly, hoping the interview confession would be over just as fast.

"Sam. May I ask you a personal question?"

That was it; my vision caved in on me. Two small round pinpricks; double Landrys, four arms.

I don't remember acquiescing to his request, but he asked it anyway.

"Is Jack the father of your baby?"

Bam. Right between the eyes.

I lost it. Covering my face with my hands did nothing to quiet the raging sobs that erupted from my soul. I cried for my lost love, my unborn child, my dead father, and the fact that I really, really wanted my mom. I didn't even try to stifle the emotions that had been building up these past few weeks and when I felt Hank's arm around my shoulder, I cried even harder and grabbed onto to his shirt with all my strength.

If I was expecting cool retribution, I didn't get it. He held onto me as firmly as my dad would have and didn't say a word.

After many minutes of unmitigated sobbing, weeping and sniffling (repressed emotions, much?) there was a knock at the door and Harriman bustled through clutching what looked like briefing papers. Seeing me, complete with attractive tear-stained visage and Landry's arm around me, ensured he was stopped in his tracks and he began to retreat, full of profuse apologies.

Hank belayed him with a gentle; "Hang on a minute, Walter."

Walter looked like he would rather be walking on the moon without a spacesuit rather than 'hanging on'.

"Would you be so good as to bring Colonel Carter a glass of water, please?" Landry was calm yet authoritative. I suddenly realized that this man would be one to trust, not with my life – I had already done that - but with my secret. Our secret.

Walter murmured a quiet 'of course' and I went back to leaking on Hank's shirt for a further five minutes.

I miss you so much. Have I mentioned this?

When Harriman at long last returned he was carrying a blanket and a mug – tendrils of steam and the delicious smell betraying not H2O, but HCO – the desirable liquid compound of hotus chocolatii. Walter certainly knows me well. I managed to mouth him a thank you while Landry stretched the coarse blanket across my tight shoulders. Seriously, is it in the AF regs that those things have to be so damn itchy?

Landry patted me on the shoulder and disappeared for a few minutes and when he came back he announced that a driver would be taking me home and that he would contact me the next morning to give me an update on the mission, and no arguments.

I'm exhausted. I don't object.

The driver turns out to be Harriman (is that man ever off duty?) who treats me with kindness and concern, finds my coat and my purse for me, opens doors for me, pushes elevator buttons for me. Am I affronted by his gentlemanly attention? No way. I let him do all of the above and even let him take my house keys, switch on my lights and I take all the empty reassurances he dishes out, even though I can barely say a word in return. He doesn't seem to mind. And he doesn't ask what the hell is wrong with me.

Thank you, Walter, you're a sweetie.

I went to bed.

I even went to sleep.

Later, S x


	2. Chapter 2

May 24th 2007

I read over what I've written.

It sorta makes sense. Kinda.

Do you understand?

Do you get it so far?

You left me in such a mess, I hate you.

May 25th 2007

Jack, I'm so sorry that I said all that.

My hormones are all over the place.

Please forgive me.

I can't stop crying.

Sam

xxxxxxxxxx

May 28th 2007

I've had a couple of days to pull myself together and I apologize for what I said on the 24th.

I feel as though I owe you a mature and considered explanation, but suffice it to say that I was SO DAMN ANGRY with you for getting yourself captured but I know I have no right when we've both spent most of our adult lives putting ourselves in danger for what we believe in. You more than me, I guess.

I did consider deleting the entry... but then I suppose that would defeat the object of getting all this down and out?

I'm now 18 weeks pregnant.

I'm showing (a little, anyway) and I can feel the baby moving.

Alive.

It's time to acknowledge the past and get on with it.

Your Sam.

May 28th (Later)

Hey, Jack, I thought you might like to know what happened the next day after I confessed to Hank Landry.

First off, the next morning, a slice of dry toast was half way to my mouth in my kitchen when I get a call from him to say that the S&R was a failure – false intel. Dead end. Brick wall. Another bone crushing disappointment.

And then he told me Carolyn Lam was on her way to my house. I guess I'm not getting away with that doctor's appointment - house calls 'r' us.

By the time I'd changed into sweat pants, Carolyn is banging on my door with a non-plussed look on her face. Credit to Hank, he asked her to call, but he didn't say what was up with me. I could have said you had been up with me, but then that would be a tasteless joke ;-D (Another one of Cassie's Smileys – tilt your head sideways to get it).

Confessing to a second person was way easier than the first, and, well, Carolyn is my doctor, even if she is Landry's daughter.

She was completely professional – has been all along, actually. She didn't judge me over an unplanned pregnancy or condemn (I nearly typed 'condom' – how's that for a Freudian slip?!) me for delaying seeking medical advice, especially with my interesting National Enquirer blood work. She provided Kleenex when the waterworks started again. Honestly, you'd think that I'd have no fluid left in my body.

Do you want to know about the exam? There's not much to tell – I relaxed on my own bed while Carolyn took my pulse and blood pressure and then she felt my tummy and under my armpits (I'm like: I'm not pregnant up there). She asked about the pregnancy tests that I had taken and calmly told me that yes, I probably was pregnant. 'Probably'? When I asked her if she was going to do a test, she said, what's the point – the drugstore tests were just as good as the ones she used and she hadn't brought the portable ultrasound. She did however take some blood to check my general health – I admitted that I barfed up almost every day for a month and that I'd lost some weight.

She'd noticed, apparently. Oh well.

We discussed how far along. She asked me about the Lunelle, when my last proper period was, (way back in January!) consulted her diary, and then informed me that I was 11 weeks pregnant. Not nine weeks... eleven weeks. Apparently pregnancy starts from a woman's last period, not when she actually gets pregnant. Oooo-kay. Eleven weeks already. Verily whizzing by.

The baby would be due the last week in October, October 27th to be precise. Then she started to talk about what happens next. She asked if I'd spoken to the father. I said no and nothing else at that point, but I get the feeling she knew who dad was (were we that transparent?) She asked me if I was in anyway unsure about the baby – was I considering termination or adoption? It hadn't occurred to me until then that I was so busy thinking about being pregnant, I wasn't sure if I should be. I had been waiting for you so that we could make a joint decision. You know, discuss the issue like mature, informed adults and then I would break down sobbing, and beg you to marry me, hehehe.

Seriously, I knew I needed to think about this – taking the decision to go ahead with the pregnancy and face the possibility of raising our child alone. I told Carolyn I hadn't decided... but you know, as soon as I'd said that, I realized I had – I wanted the child - our child so badly, even if you walked through the door now and said you absolutely didn't want to be a father again, I could NOT have destroyed the little scrap of life that we had (perhaps) carelessly created in a alcohol enhanced, sex-filled evening.

I wish you were here.

How can I think like you? You unique, irascible, dependable, loyal, intelligent, self-effacing, brave, annoying, sexy man. Do you want to be a dad again? Do you want the sleepless nights, the barfing, and all that crying? And that's just me.

I think that you do.

And after Carolyn left, leaving me to think about things over the weekend, who was I gonna call to sound out? Not Ghostbusters, the next best thing – Daniel Jackson.

May 29th 2007

Me again. Daniel was right, I do feel better getting this down. Clever man is Daniel.

So, keep on trucking...

And speaking of Daniel, yes, I called him. He was still awake after getting Landry's call about the failed S&R and despite his jet lag, as soon I asked him to come over, I could hear him grabbing his PT Cruiser keys.

I offered him Colombian coffee, cheerfully informed him that he looked like crap, and then told him that not only had you and I had been together for several months, I was also pregnant with your baby. Wait, that didn't come out right. Not pregnant with Daniel's baby... your baby. But you know that. headdesk (Another one of Cassie's – I know you'll like that one).

Anyway, he was thrilled. Lots of 'wows', hugs and dimpled grinning – he reminded me so much of the happy Danny boy after we killed Apophis. That mission where I bit you? Seems like another life now. It was the first time I'd told anyone who was actually pleased for me/us. Having said that – I'd only told three people including him and only two of those knew who the daddy was. He was genuinely joyful. It kinda rubbed off. It was then that I started to get excited about being a mom.

Oh. And he had guessed some time ago that we were together and so did Teal'c. So much for being discrete. We should have told them. And Cassie.

I did stop him then and explained that I'd asked him to come over because a) I had told Landry and Carolyn out of necessity but I wanted someone I loved to be the next to know (I'd have to try and catch up with Mr.T later) and b) I needed to ask his opinion over whether he thought that you would be happy over me carrying on with the pregnancy without you.

He looked at me shrewdly and stated that I already knew the answer to that.

And as with Carolyn earlier, I realized I did.

You do love me.

You would have been surprised but overjoyed about the baby.

You would want me to carry on without you if that's what I wanted.

And I did.

Pregnant and proud to be so (and just a little bit terrified).

He took me out to Pizza Hut, ordered the largest deep pan Hawaiian they offered, and got me drunk on sparkling water and motherhood.

June 4th 2007

21 weeks. Took a break for a while. The Hermes project is taking up quite a bit of my energy so I'm taking it easy in my downtime.

I'll carry on. After the day I described up there /\, I started to sleep a little better. On Sunday Carolyn called me to say that an appointment had been made for me the following Tuesday with the ob-gyn unit at the Academy hospital and that General Landry had come up with an excuse to keep me around the SGC for a week or two rather than go back to Nevada. Monday morning I reported to Cheyenne and tried to make myself useful and avoid Daniel, because he was practically beaming every time he saw me. He suggested coming with me the next day but I declined his offer – if you couldn't be there, I wanted to do it on my own – does that make sense?

In retrospect, I wish I had said yes to him.

The ob-gyn turned out to be the Harvard med school head honcho – a pinched faced, rat eyed 50-something with a stunning figure and the loveliest smile. Relax, she's female. She has the highest civilian security clearance, so I take it she's treated the President, or rather his wife. She read my file and I didn't have to kill her.

She laid it out straight.

Option #1 - Termination.

Could be done the next day. All goes down a tube the size of my little finger.

No more baby. A quick end to the little problem. All the debilitating symptoms would disappear within a week and I could regain control of my life and volunteer to work on your S&R. WHEN I found you, perhaps I could bring up a discussion about taking things further.

But you know now I couldn't have gone through with that – Catholic school and hell and damnation aside. I know that you are lapsed, but I also know that you still pray, even it's just 'Give Me Strength' while Daniel is in 'explaining' mode.

There is also the point that if you are not found, I would have killed the only remaining connection that I have with you. Could I take that responsibility? No. It's a no.

Option # 2 - Adoption.

I know so many people who have given a home to unwanted children and totally transformed all of their lives. Childless couples finding joy, sad children finding love.

I respect them and admire them. If I was to go through with the pregnancy, could I give up our child at the end of it?

Selfishly (?), no.

I was already becoming very protective over Baby Carter-O'Neill. Who would have thought? I was very happy being childless. I like children. I will admit I prefer older children who can interact with me – I haven't got a clue about babies. It never bothered me that I was nearly 40 and I still hadn't had the urge to wear smock tops and keep Gummi Bears in my purse. As Ally McBeal would say: 'There is nothing ticking!' I am totally fulfilled with work and my loved ones and friends. I admitted to you when Pete asked me to marry him – would it be irresponsible of me to have a child when my daily work can be so inherently perilous? Anyway, if I thought about the global population crises, the prospect of bringing yet another mouth to feed onto this planet might be construed as somewhat self-centered. But I had hoped.

Rat eyes morphed into insightful. Her name is Professor Mary Lucy, by the way. Totally the wrong name for her. She looked at me, diligently taking in all the info she's throwing out, and when I look up, I know that she knows that I've already decided on:

Option #3 – Have the baby, become a mom, get a Toys'R'Us storecard and buy in a whole stash of Gummi Bears.

:raises hand:

**What in Netu am I doing?!**

She did the same exams that Carolyn had performed. Tummy, armpits, blood pressure. She asked me to wait while she read more about my blood work – a dead Goa'uld protein marker wasn't something that she had previously come across, but it didn't daunt her.

She did want a sonogram though. Straightaway.

She called a nurse, asked me to relax on the exam table in her room, and within five minutes I was looking at what I thought was a very fuzzy black and white blob that was supposed to be our child. I couldn't see anything beating, moving or waving, although Prof-Doc Lucy confirmed the age of the embryo corresponded with my 'dates'. I've heard that bounded about quite a bit. My 'dates'. My DATES. Hmmm. She provided a photo of said very fuzzy black and white blob that I gazed at for a couple of minutes until I realized that she was waiting for me to get off her couch and pull my pants up.

Then she started. I was relatively old to be a first time mom. She asked the age of the father and looked serious. My physiology was unusual and excess protein can have damaging effects on a developing embryo. She listed all the common syndromes and disorders associated with older moms. By the time she was finished, I was berating myself for ever even thinking about having sex with anyone, least of all you. But the rabbit had died, no use crying over spilt milk and any other empty clichés you can think of.

She started talking about a screening for abnormalities. I thought she might. She suggested that we start with a nuchal scan (no, I'd never heard of it before either but I'll explain in a minute). She would have normally performed this in combination with a blood test checking my plasma protein, but of course, Jolinar put paid to that test being viable. Basically, she was going to measure the fluid at the back of the baby's neck. By combining my age with information from the scan, an individual statistical chance of a chromosome abnormality can be calculated. Sounds so tidy. She also recommended invasive diagnostic tests; an amniocentesis, or a Chorionic Villus Test, but she did warn me that for every 100 women who have these invasive tests from the 11th week in pregnancy, one will miscarry.

Of course, I had the right to refuse all screening and diagnostic tests.

Crap.

I really needed some air at this point.

She then went on to talk about neural tube defects and I'm sorry to say I phased out. Not in as in out of phase like Daniel after his encounter with Quetlezcoatl, but just generally wanted to do the 'head-in-sand' thing. By the time she got to the actual birth and all the risks associated with me being over 35 - a greater risk of miscarriage, pre-eclampsia, intervention at the birth, I was feeling rather shaky. But I would like to think I'm not a coward. I'm not denying I get scared crapless on some missions, but it's how you face up to your fear, isn't it? I squared my shoulders, thanked for her information and asked for the nuchal scan.

She seemed to be pleased at that and disappeared for a few minutes. I fiddled with my out-of-control hair (it's got a mind of it's own at the moment) and tried to read my upside down notes. I was just getting my cell phone out to have a sneaky switch-on when back came Mary Lucy and asked me to come with.

Huh? Oh. She's performing the scan now. Oh.

I trot behind like a 7th-grader following their Principal to a new imaging suite. When I realize that it's built with some of the Asgardian technology that I helped to backward-engineer, I sputter out a giggle. Mary Lucy looks at me. I guess she's wondering if it's just pregnancy hysteria or if I should be in the psych. wing with those nice white jackets that do up at the back.

I'm asked to drink 62 gallons of water. Well, not quite, it just felt like it.

They do the scan. This time I get a fantastic image of Baby. Jack, I saw the facial features, the little hands (just two, you'll be glad to know), and two legs with two feet and two heads. Ha. Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Just the one head, with what looks like your petulant chin. Doc tells me the kiddo is fully formed with all the essential organs, and that some of them are beginning to function for themselves. Isn't that amazing? When I acknowledge that I had briefly considered abortion, it was very hard to squash down the emotions to avoid being a sobbing wreck. Again.

She analyses some measurements taken from the nuchal scan and it's quiet for a bit while she taps the figures into a laptop.

Prof Lucy informs me that with the information that she has, there is a 1 in 15 chance that the baby may have Down's Syndrome. I was actually quite calm; I was expecting this. She states that the only way to know for sure is to perform an invasive test; an amniocentesis or a Chorionic Villus Test (a CVT – like we could do with more three-letter acronyms). And yes, there is a risk of miscarriage.

More options.

Option #1 - I don't have the invasive tests. I carry on with the pregnancy. Later scans might show up the physiological markers associated with certain genetic syndromes and disorders and if that happens, more informed decisions can be made.

Option #2 - I wait three more weeks for a standard amniocentesis. That test seems to carry less of a risk of spontaneous miscarriage than a CVT, but the results take a further two weeks to come through.

Option #3 – The CVT. It could be done the next day. Although it's risky, the results could be ready in days, but this is not as comprehensive as an amniocentesis and won't show up neural tube defects (like Spina Bifida).

There is a 4th. Prof Mary Lucy has performed hundreds of amniocentesis procedures. She herself is confident that she could obtain viable results at 13 weeks – I'd only have to wait less than two weeks to have the test and another two to get the results. She would also check the heart function. I trust her. And everyone says pregnancy is a waiting game, don't they? I say yes to #4.

Then of course, I need to have decided what I'm going to do about the baby if it is shown to have a problem. I can't have the tests and not have thought about what I'd do with the information. But then, if I decided that I would carry on anyway, why would I opt for a procedure that may kill the baby? To be informed, that's why. Intel.

I thanked the Professor, made it along the interstate without barfing and spent most of the night researching on the Internet.

Wrung out much? Oh, yeah.

Determined? Yes.

Decided if I will keep the baby if it has a birth defect? Please forgive me, no.

By the way, I got told the sex. Would you want to know?

Sam

xxxxxx


	3. Chapter 3

June 7th 2007 – 22 weeks

The two weeks are busy. I tell Daniel everything I know and we compare notes on Down's Syndrome. I don't tell Cam… I don't know why. I guess Cam is my friend, he's a sweet guy and I've known him since flight school, but Daniel is different. Daniel and I have shared so many things; he really could be my brother. Or like the sister I never had… but don't tell him that bit, hehe. Teal'c? Well, the Big Man is out on every mission going looking for you and although I've seen him to say 'hi' to, he's so exhausted and preoccupied when I do, that I don't think it's fair to say anything until I get the results back.

Of course I also told Carolyn, and she was brilliant. She talked to every doctor friend she ever knew I think, and got me so much information.

She called me at home on the second week to say that a friend of hers from med school is now a consultant pediatrician and attached to a day care center near Denver for special needs kids and would I like to go visit? I say thanks but no thanks – I'm really busy after all. Dumb excuse.

Then I sit down and think.

The better you know your enemy….

I am now convinced that with a bit of learning on both sides I could be a mom to our child.

But. Could I be mom to a special needs kid?

Physically handicapped?

Mentally handicapped?

Both?

Could I handle the later development, the physical problems, and the lifelong neediness?

I know you would be brilliant. I've watched you. All the off-world kids think you're fantastic. You seem to have a bond that helps you relate to them on their level, whatever that might be. Merin adored you, even Loran from P4X-347 hero-worshipped you.

I'll admit it, Jack, I got real scared.

Screw it, it's not any fault of the kid's, I need to act my age. I call Carolyn back and tell her I've changed my mind, (what a shame I can't blame it on PMS), and ask if I can bring Daniel?

Of course I haven't actually asked him that, but when I do, he sounds, well, honored that I did. I wanted to hug him right there and then for being so supportive!

Carolyn calls back with a date and a time and of course I can bring Daniel.

We're on for Operation Information.

June 8th 2007

Jack, the visit to the center was incredible!

The kids are amazing! Daniel and I got so many hugs from the kids and encouragement from their moms & dads and I came back with so many crayon sketches and paintings, Daniel is going to get me a bigger bulletin-board to pin them up. We got taken on a tour by a young teen with cerebral palsy that is as sharp as a tack and wants to be a doctor (Janet and her would have got on SO WELL) and about a dozen cheeky hangers-on, hehe.

I've heard people say they are humbled to meet special needs kids and they are right, so right. To think what they have to put up with on a daily basis makes our journeys through Life seem like a picnic. There was one Down's boy, also named Daniel, (although he calls himself Dan because he thinks it's 'cooler') he'd had 14 heart operations. 14! He thought that he and our Daniel having the same name was awesome and followed Daniel around all afternoon, they even swapped email addresses with his mom's permission. Sylvie's on her own too. Dad took off when Dan was born (she was only 27 and wasn't offered any screening tests) and she hasn't had a penny in maintenance from him. Jack, she works a 12 hour nightshift at Costco when Daniel is asleep, (her mom sleeps at her house as a sitter) comes home and gets him to school, does a half shift at the local drugstore and then collects him and takes him swimming! When does the woman sleep?! When I discovered that she has a degree in biology from UCLA, I asked her if she resented Dan for changing her life plans so dramatically. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with store jobs at all, but she must have had plans when she was younger. Sylvie looks at me with astute eyes and informs that Dan is her life now, this is the way it was meant to be; she never thought of herself as a quitter. Dan is her son, she loves him and she's proud of him and everyday he brings her joy.

And the warehouse guys at Costco make her crack up every night.

I needed Kleenex; she had some ready in her purse.

Maybe she gets that a lot.

Everyone was so friendly and informative, it felt like a team. No-one seemed surprised that we came to visit; they must get a few worried parents through. They did think that Daniel was 'dad', however. He didn't seem to mind.

But I did.

Later on the drive back, he tried to get me to talk about how I now felt about having a potentially disabled baby, but I found it difficult to talk to him. I love Daniel, I really do, but not in that way. I think he wanted to tell Teal'c, or for me to tell him, but I couldn't. Not yet. I felt mean asking Daniel to keep such a secret. That wasn't fair on his generous nature. I apologized as I got out of his vehicle for any rudeness, feigning that I had a lot to think about. No feigning actually; I did. He was fine.

That night I sat up in bed, surrounded by a sea of wiring schematics, all carefully arranged so that I wasn't looking at them and thought about our child.

I can do this. I may be an older mom, but I'm still in good shape physically and I have financial security, thank heavens. I might even move to Denver to be near the center. The school was fantastic: the IT suite could be the envy of any college, the gym hall superb and the teachers highly qualified and committed.

If I do move to Denver, it could be the end of my existing commitment to the SGC, but possibly not to the Air Force. I reckon I have some leverage with my contributions over the years, whadyathink?

Ah, screw 'em.

If they don't want me, I bet the University of Colorado would.

June 9th 2007

I guess I need to tell you about the amnio.

Maybe you've seen documentaries on TV?

Well, it was way worse.

Daniel drove me to the hospital and didn't say a word when I bit his head off for... well, breathing. I was prepped for ages before Mary Lucy appeared to repeat the risks and obtain consent. Then she disappeared again. Daniel came with me while I wheeled to a procedure suite, but then was shown to the waiting room before I was asked to lie down on an exam table while people I didn't know repeatedly requested my name, age and address.

I was nearly ready to hightail it outta Dodge.

Prof M-L appeared again (any references to Glinda, the Good Witch of the North are sadly mistaken) and asked to me lie flat and relax.

HAHAHAHAHA!!

She might as well have asked me to fly the Daedalus through a Stargate!

Anyway, they gave me something. Something nice and warm that they assured me would not harm the baby but made everything seem... woolly.

They wheeled me through.

Then the needle. As in hugegreatbighonkin' needle.

Crap.

They could probably hear me swallowing on Abydos. The ascended Abydos.

Prof M-L performed a sonogram and then in goes the needle. And yes, it hurt. They take out the required sample of amniotic fluid; that's bits of our baby down that canula!

Ten minutes. All done.

I have to rest on the trolley for two hours and then I get to move to an actual bed. Since it's late, I have to stay the night so the dudes in white can keep an eye on me and my pee. Daniel gives me a kiss on the forehead, promises to be back the next day with chocolate and leaves.

I worry about miscarriage for at least 3.25 minutes before the wooliness engulfs my brain once more, and I sleep.

The next two weeks are – 'difficult' is the best euphemism I can think of. Landry is running out of excuses to keep me around and I'm fielding queries from my colleagues at Area 51 and Washington several times a day. I can't sleep very well. I still feel sick, although I'm not barfing quite so much. One day I wake up and I'm definitely having a termination if the baby is disabled and the next day I wake up hating myself for being such an evil bitch for thinking that.

I had to hit the wall at some point, right?

I was 15 weeks.

It had been a tough day.

Scratch that; it had been a tough week.

Not only had we received a lead from Vala of all people (remember her? How could you forget her!) that the Ori were being particularly pesky in her neighborhood, but SG3 had received more intel about you that was phony. Teal'c and Daniel were off-world and I had been working with Siler and Felger on what we were calling an anti-prior device (APD). I'm ashamed to say, I hadn't eaten very much. (I realized later that Siler had been trying to tempt me with food all day). His nagging eventually got to me so I promised to follow him to the mess for dinner. I got as far as the lab door when the world seemed to tilt and spin in a way that I know it shouldn't, what with all the PhDs in Physics and all. Making it over to the far side of the corridor in a kind of upright manner, my legs then go completely. I hear Siler shouting for a med. team and then I briefly see Landry and Harriman (is the man ever off duty?) hovering over Siler's right shoulder. I must have passed out for a while but when I came to, Siler had been replaced with Landry. I figure out I'm sitting upright and I check out my lap to see if I've vomited. No. Phew But Landry is fuzzy around the edges and I feel very hot.

People are staring.

Spin, tilt, spin.

Crap.

Siler is asking if I'm okay. For crying out loud, Sergeant! What do you think?!

It seems to take an age for Carolyn to turn up but when she does, she and her team are well prepared. I'm persuaded onto a gurney and wheeled with considerable care into the infirmary where I'm asked if would like to be lifted onto a bed.

No way! So I sit upright to a tilting universe and have to lie down again.

What a wuss. Thus, I am lifted onto the bed and keep my mouth shut.

Much later, in fact a Narcan drip and a hot meal later, Siler and Harriman turn up with a bunch of flowers Harriman can't see over and a bag full of Siler's favorite candies. An orderly bustles off with the flowers while Siler digs into the candy bag and we all stare at each other.

"I'm pregnant!" I announce, rather too loudly.

"We guessed," said Siler, his mouth full of Peanut Butter M&M's. A piece of red coating arcs neatly from his mouth and lands on my starched white bed sheets.

"Oh," I nod and regard the shiny carapace leaching crimson onto the virgin linen.

Harriman cleared his throat even though I don't think it needed clearing. "If there's anything we can do to help..." he hesitates.

"Thanks."

And I weep a little. The guys shift a little uncomfortably but they don't start pressing the call button like demented idiots or make their excuses and leave. I get it under control in a minute, whereupon some Hershey Kisses are thrust under my nose. It breaks the moment. I begin gigging then, which makes Walter grin with relief and Sly to smile with E-number stained lips. As I unwrap a Kiss, I explain that I'm waiting on test results and that it's been a tough few weeks.

I don't have to say who the father is.

I know that they know.

And I'm okay with that.

My catharsis is dry and welcome. As is the sleep after the guys have gone, promising discretion and to keep looking for 'GJ'. Did you know they called you GJ?

At that time, privacy and promises were all I could ask for.

And the test results.

That arrived the next morning.

June 10th 2007

Just as I finish tucking into bacon and waffles and feeling better than I have done for days, I see Carolyn marching purposefully toward me clutching a Large Brown Envelope.

Crap.

"I just had them faxed," she explains.

"I haven't read them," she clarifies.

"Would you like me to?" she queries.

"Nghhhh…..ummmmm" I acknowledge.

She takes it as a yes, and deposits the envelope containing my future on the patient courtesy trolley bearing the remains of breakfast and proceeds to yank the privacy curtains around the bed.

I can't help but HATE that innocuous manila packet with all my heart.

Carolyn snatches up the envelope, plunks her ass down on the same seat Harriman used the previous day and slides the papers out.

I fiddle with a piece of Formica that is working its way loose from the trolley. She's reading quickly; I'm watching her eyes flick to and fro, her mouth expressionless. Her brows wrinkle at some point and my heart begins to pound – my baby is sick… I knew it, my baby is sick! Screw the doctors! Screw the AF! I will take myself off and have the child where no-one can get at me and us.

The Formica breaks off into my twisted fingers.

Carolyn looks up at this and hitches closer to me. "You need to read this for yourself, I think," and thrusts the faxes in front of me. Suddenly, I can't see a thing. Then I can make out a few words here and there; my name, Prof Lucy's name and credentials. There's a page full of boxes that resembles a résumé – I'm not applying for a damn job! I shake my head and turn my face away, and then Carolyn grabs my wrist.

"No, Sam, it's okay, look, the baby is fine! There are no genetic indicators or contra-indicators that you are carrying anything other than a healthy child; no Downs, no Spina Bifida, no sex chromosomal anomalies, the Naquadah hasn't affected the fetus; it's all here."

My hands are shaking as I try to read the medical jargon again. "Really?" Desperate for continual reassurance or what? Carolyn is nodding and smiling, and I swear her eyes are moist.

Jack, I can't tell you how I felt then. I remember sobbing and sobbing until Carolyn eased the paper from where I clutched it against my chest (I guess I was making it soggy) and then climbed onto the bed and held me in away that I'm sure they don't teach in med school and I was so grateful and hugged her and she hugged back and I cried lots more.

After my tears were spent, she tucked me in, acknowledged my stuttered request to ask Teal'c and Daniel to come see me after they returned, turned the lights down low in the infirmary and I slept again.

When I awoke, Dr D and Mr. T were sitting beside my bed reading 'Archeology Today' and 'National Enquirer' respectively.

I spill. Everything.

Well, maybe not everything. I leave out the part with the Guinness cocktails g

Daniel is obviously relieved that I've shared the news with Teal'c (I really wasn't being fair on Dan, asking him to keep such a confidence, was I?). The big man doesn't even bat an eyelid, but then, I knew he wouldn't. He listens attentively, nodding at appropriate moments and when I get to the results bit, he does something he has never done before.

He holds my hand.

All right, it looks as though a giant turtle is squatting on my wrist, but his delicate touch surprises me. I look at him and he looks at me and if I didn't already know that he would rip apart anyone who hurt me with his bare hands, it was confirmed then.

Carolyn keeps me in for another night and the next morning as I'm toweling myself off after my shower, I catch a glimpse of my side-on reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I'm showing. There's no doubt.

A gentle swelling just below my navel.

I drop the towel and start palming my lower torso, stroking the skin and feeling the growth. The skin is wet and smooth and yet I feel an intensification of this development and suddenly want to be huge... as big as a house, wearing the largest maternity smock that clothing stores can supply and I have to be transported everywhere by a MALP.

I also want sex. Really badly. Too bad Gold Jack is at home in my nightstand drawer.

Instead I opt for securing my release from the infirmary's care and going straight to Landry for permission to return to Area 51.

Where I am now.

So Jack, you're all caught up.

I'm now twenty two weeks pregnant; over half way through.

Whadyathink of it so far?

Miss you, Jack O'Neill,

Samantha Mary Carter

xxxxxxxxxxxx


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday, June 17th 2007

It's Father's Day.

I love you.

Sammie

xxx

June 21st 2007 – the Summer Solstice – Area 51

So, why did I run away, you're asking yourself?

Because I wanted to, is my reply.

I've already told you I'm happy being pregnant, especially with your baby and not Siler's, hehe.

You now know that the baby has no known birth defects – that doesn't preclude the possibility of something going wrong at the birth of course, but I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, probably screaming my damn head off.

I just needed time to think, I guess. And to get away from the oppressive atmosphere and the role that I seem to be adopting of control room bar fly. Of course, I would have to come back to Nevada just when it is getting hot rolls eyes

I was also sick of crying.

My first stop was General Kerrigan to say 'Hi, I'm back, and by the way, I'm pregnant'. He took the news stoically and asked me if I had 'support'. I guess it was his discrete way of asking me if a father was in the picture; the unspoken inference being that I had opted to visit a sperm bank and had experienced a close encounter with a turkey baster.

I've known him for years.

I trust him.

I told him. About you.

I hope you're okay with that? He is very supportive; anything he can do, etc. He suggested I tell my department openly about the baby (because pretty soon it will be obvious anyway) and then make a judgment call if they ask about the father. Perhaps that way I'd deflect rumor control. I doubt that last part, but being open seems the sensible thing to do. So I was and he was right. I am so glad he was promoted from the Academy; I need all the friends I can get right now.

The second stop was clothing stores to get a summer uniform. A MATERNITY summer uniform and let me tell you, it is so much more comfortable. I can't believe what a difference not having a tight waistband makes to the nausea. I've got a standard navy smock, which looks stupid at the moment because I haven't really got anything to fill it, but also some new maternity blouses, skirts and jackets. The skirt has a discrete elastane panel and the jacket is an edge-to-edge design and...

…am I boring you?

I am boring you. Hehe. Maybe you'd prefer me with my clothes off? Would you like me with huge breasts and a baby bump? Okay, dumb question about the breasts. Would you still love a woman with no discernable waist and stretch marks and who walks like a wide receiver? Relax, I haven't got stretch marks. Yet.

I called Cassie to tell her where I was and why. It was quite a bit to take in for someone so young, after all, she had no idea that we were together, let alone dealing with the news that a baby was on its way. At first she went quiet and then she started crying, which set me off. We spent 40 minutes on the phone crying at each other – I wished I'd used a hard line now! She started talking about taking a year off UCLA to come and live with me and help me with the baby, but as much as I would love her company I'm not so sure. Next year she was supposed to be going to Stockholm on an Erasmus exchange and I know it's her dream – there's NO WAY she's dropping out of biochem! Janet would be so proud of her daughter.

At that point, in my own mind, I've stopped 'being pregnant' and started being 'having a baby'. 'Pregnant' implies a condition at a particular point. 'Having a baby' suggests a future.

A future for the child as well as me.

I love working on the Hermes! As I said way back when, the ship is a smaller version of the Daedalus, designed for galaxy-to-galaxy hops using the Intergalactic Gate. Although there are a few wires and chips, it's mostly crystal based technology and it's awesome. Another Cassie-ism. AWESOME. Basically it's a fast response troop and equipment (nearly the size of a C5 Galaxy) carrier with the projected use of first strike and search and rescue missions – how ironic.

Which reminds me, I have some schematics to approve and I'd like an early night. Guess I'll have to use the blackout curtains – it's the longest day!

Love you,

Sam

June 28th 2007 – Officer's Quarter's Groom Lake Area 51

Just popping in to say hi, I'm fine, Baby Carter-O'Neill is growing like the proverbial weed, and I've been busy at work, so resting in my down-time. Cassie is flying down from LA-X this evening and we're having a girly weekend. We're going baby clothes shopping!

Oh! I've written to George Hammond. A real old fashioned letter with a pen and paper and everything and 'fessed up. I know he likes receiving letters, but I'm not so sure if he will like receiving that one. You know what he has meant to me over the years and I do NOT want him to be the last to find out. I wonder if he will be disappointed in me? In us? I wonder what my Dad would have thought.

Lots of love,

Sam

xxxxxxxx

Sunday, July 1st – Edwards AFB, Nevada

I don't believe this! For crying out loud! I've been recalled back to the CMC!

I've had to bundle Cassie off to Reno International and now I'm banging away on my laptop while I'm hanging around Edwards AFB waiting for a Lear private charter transport.

What NOW?!

Wednesday July 4th - SGC Visitors Quarters

Well, it's been an interesting 48 hours.

The next time they break my Stargate, I'll break their kneecaps!

Dollars to donuts! You think they would have learned to screen their technicians more thoroughly after the 'gate was tagged by Kevin Hartkins last year. Some rookie freshly arrived from DC apparently took it upon himself to re-program the Earthside DHD interface. When the upload was activated, the gee-whiz kid discovered that maybe he should have left the improvements to someone who actually knew what she was doing before I CUT HIS FINGERS OFF.

After I bawled him out, I seconded him to Bill Lee. Ha. Sweet revenge for a) being an civilian hard-ass when you were stuck on that moon with Maybourne and b) the Audrey II incident we had at the CMC a couple of years ago. That last one was for you too; I remember how mad you got!

Actually, it was worth the trip back just for the dramatic effect of me waddling into the briefing room with all my maternity get-up on. Well, okay, I'm hardly 'waddling' at the moment, but I did my best to stick out what little baby there is just so I could see their collective mouths drop open. If advance warnings had got around, the sundry personnel did well to hide it – most people looked kinda quietly stunned. Actually Walter rescued me by finding me a seat and an entire carafe of water while Hank Landry continued with his update. I sat next to Paul Davis who kept S-T-A-R-I-N-G and then jerking his head away when I looked in his direction. I ended up doing it deliberately just to try and give him whiplash :D

I felt like getting Walter to tannoy an announcement: "Attention all personnel! Standby for broadcast! Carter is pregnant! I repeat, Colonel Carter is well and truly stuffed!"

Hehehe.

In all seriousness, looking back over the day, I'm glad I didn't have much time to think about what happened. Perhaps if I had, it might not have been so easy. Thank goodness SG1 and all the other teams trapped off-world got back safely. Cameron Mitchell seems to be settling in well. He's gained the respect of Teal'c, so that's a measure, and Daniel seems to like him. I guess I'm more than a little... wistful that I'm not out there too.

I was too busy to talk to them to begin with; the priority was getting everyone back safely. We're starting to hear more and more reports of Ori controlled worlds, so they are definitely becoming a new concern. It seems the Universe has an endless supply of megalomaniac sadists with which to jeopardize our nice little blue-green planet. Pesky roaches. You kill one, two more pop up. Is this the right time and place to bring a child into the world?

Kinda late for the soul searching.

And just generally late – gonna hit my bunk, so much for Independence Day.

Samxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Friday July 6th – Maison d'Carter, Colorado Springs

Friday night! The end of another week. I'm surprised about how quickly the SGC personnel seem to have taken me and my bump in their stride. Actually I'm quite disappointed I haven't had more than my 15 minutes of fame. If the base personnel are still talking about me, I haven't noticed; no abruptly ended conversations, no meaningful glances in my direction.

Daniel has been wonderful. He loves the bump and wants to touch it all the time! He also loves my hair. Oh! I forgot to tell you! I stopped having it cut because there was no point – it's growing faster than the base hairdresser could cope with and it's so thick! I got permission for the six weeks growing time, but to be honest, I was pulling it up into some kind of Carter-patented pony tail bun inside four weeks. It's getting quite long, but apparently it all falls out after the delivery so I haven't decided whether or not I'll keep it.

Teal'c is so supportive. He doesn't stay at the SGC for very long these days – long enough to be patched up by the med team, grab his supply of Tretonin, and he's gone.

I worry about him.

Cam is.. well, he's just so sweet.

I spent the last couple of days running diagnostics with Siler and Harriman. Now that I have returned to the SGC and the roof hasn't fallen in because of my knocked up state, I've been stalling so that I can stay a while.

I guess I miss the buzz :)

And, of course, I've also had the chance to check out the latest on your S&R. I wish I hadn't.

General George called me. He got my letter, he was so kind, and to tell the truth a bit excited for me. If there's anything he can do, I only have to call, and I must come over for dinner soon, etc.

His kindness is just so heartwarming. It's easy to forget that he has nerves as strong as bonded steel.

Oh.

And I've started seeing you. In all the old familiar places.

I've only cried once.

Tomorrow I'm going shopping for me because my civilian clothes situation is ridiculous; I'll be wearing dress blues to bed at this rate, but now, I'm gonna stand in my yard with a large glass of Evian and ice and watch the stars and hope that you are among them.

I love you.

I miss you.

I wish you were here.

Sam

Xxx


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday July 6th – Maison d'Carter

Now listen to me, Jack. Don't get mad, but I thought it was time, and I respect your ex-wife too much to risk her hearing the news by some back door method. I checked with personnel admin that Sara had been informed of your status but that's all they could confirm because I'm not next of kin. I'm not quite sure how I stand (apart from awkwardly) regarding the baby's relationship with you (i.e. a dependent's) but I'm not discussing that with them just yet.

I wrote to her (she still stays in Cedar Heights, but I guess you know that) and said that I knew that she knew that you were MIA and that I felt that she should know that I was expecting your child. And the reason why I wanted for her to know.

_Dear Ms Sara O'Neill,_

_Please excuse me from contacting you out of the blue like this but I have something that I wish to say to you and I thought this was the best way._

_My name is Samantha Carter and we have met in person once before. I was the Captain that drove you back to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in 1997 after the incident with the Charlie 'spirit'. You were pretty much in shock but I got you coffee and kept you company while you waited for Jack to return and explain the situation._

_I realize that it may be somewhat rude of me to approach you again after so much time has past. I am aware that you know that Jack is missing in action. I know this because I checked with the AF staff supervisor, who also gave me your address, I hope that is okay. I do not presume to know your feelings on this information but as I say there is something I wish you to know because I sincerely do not want for you to hear it by any other means that may be construed as unsuitable._

_I should inform you that Jack and I have had a relationship as more than colleagues and indeed friends for about a year now. Before he left on the mission there was something that he didn't know and that was that I am pregnant. I'm due at the end of October. _

_I understand that there is a strong possibility of me raising the child alone and I am fine with this. Not happy but accepting. If people ask who the father is, I will tell them the truth._

_Having said that, I do not wish you to hear through military rumor control that I am expecting your ex-husband's child. With all due respect, I do not know if you would care, but I care about your sensibilities, Sara. I was once close to Jack at a point where he was mortally wounded and I was humbled that his last words were those asking for you. I completely understand your continuing commitment to Jack and still wish you all the very best._

_My very respectful wishes,_

_Samantha Carter. _

I hope you are okay with what I have written.

It's too bad if you are.

I sent it.

July 7th – SGC

Hey Jack,

Had my 24 week scan today, Carolyn performed it.

Everything is coming on well.

Would you like to know what goes on? I think that if you were here, you would have wanted to be involved and have come to all the appointments. I don't think I'm wrong about that. Am I?

Firstly, I am weighed. During the early days, I actually lost weight, which worried me beyond rationality but I seem to be steadily gaining now. Then the bump is measured with a tape measure. Why do they do this? Actually, I have no idea, I must ask next time! I then lie down on the narrowest examination table I've ever had the misfortune to recline upon (which could be interesting the closer I get to term!) while Carolyn palpates my stomach to see how the baby is lying and that everything is where it should be.

This is the third ultrasound that I've had. The first, as you know was performed by Professor Lucy at 11 weeks, the second by the medical center midwife at Edwards AFB and then this one.

Still missing you missing all this,

Sam

xxxx

Wednesday July 11th – Colorado Springs home – 1809 hours

I had to update now - the baby is moving so much, Jack, it's amazing!

I guess Sara must have told you what it was like when she was carrying Charlie. Well, if she told you it was like wind, she was right, hehehe. You feel just flutters and bubbles at first. In fact, I think I'd been conscious of the movements a week before I realized it was actually Baby and not the rigatoni I'd had the night before. When you first realize, you wait every waking moment for those bubbles – I'd have thought it would be too weird, like John-Hurt-in-Alien weird. But it becomes as natural as breathing quite quickly. Sometimes, if I'm relaxed and quiet, like at 0509 this morning, I can feel the gentle flickers through the skin of my stomach and if I look closely, I can see dimpling where our child is moving about inside me.

I have no idea why, but the baby seems to move around when I'm in my Volvo. I don't know whether this is an indication of its distress at my driving! Ha-ha

Hang on, there's someone at the door… brb.

SJSJSJ

Okay.

That was.. unexpected.

Jack, Sara just came to see me. She evidently got my letter.

I'm a bit in shock at seeing her after such a long time and, well Jack, she was so sweet!

I know you haven't really spoken of her but I remember every time you have, it was in the most respectful of ways. She deserves it. Actually, sweet is a dumb word to use, she was warm-hearted, understanding and generous.

Basically she thanked me for my letter and gave me a huge bag full of Charlie's old stuff.

She said that you wouldn't mind and that you would be glad that it was being used. Did you know she had kept it? There's loads! Blankets, PJs, onesies. She said that there was no obligation to use it, but I told her that I would be honored to have anything of Charlie's. She said that she won't ask for any of it back, so I can pass it on or keep it if I want.

She apologized that almost all of the clothes are really for boys and asked me if I knew the sex of the baby.

I replied that I did :D

She gave me a hug, left me her business card, and asked if I had any family around to help.

Crap. I really, really need to talk to Mark.

Friday July 13th – SGC

Jack,

Very quickly.

I thought hard about Sara's visit and Mark.

I called him last night, secured five days leave over the weekend, and I'm booked on a flight to San Diego International tonight, right after work.

I'm so nervous. You see, he doesn't even know about you, let alone a mini-you.

TTYL

Sam

Xxxxx

Saturday July 14th – Carter residence, San Diego

Here.

Nerves wrung out.

Why is it that families can be so DAMN HARD?!

Sunday July 15th – Carter residence, San Diego

Okay Jack, let me explain that last entry.

After a whole lot of guilty soul searching, I resolved to 'fess up to Mark. Everything. I acknowledge that we haven't had the closest of relationships, but after all, he's the only family I've got left and he's had to put up with more than a few MIA notices in the past, both Carter Snr and Jnr.

I call him up, ask if I can stay the weekend and he picks himself up off the floor and says; "Come on down, lil' sis'."

He has no idea.

So, I'm booked on the red eye to San Diego. Yeah, I know, not the best idea in my 'delicate' state but it was all last minute dot com (actually Southwest Airlines, but you get the idea). I do pretty well on the flight. The attendant looks at me closely and makes sure I have plenty of barf bags. Gee, thanks honey, pass the chicken-on-rye on your way back.

I've told Mark not to pick me up from the airport. There are two reasons for this. The first one, which I tell him, is that it's way too early for him to be collecting me; I'll grab a cab, no sweat. The second is that if you think that I am stalling confronting him with my bump, you'd be right. The fact that it is actually raining in California is a great excuse to wear my Mac. My voluminous Mac. My voluminous Mac that does a great job of hiding excess poundage.

The airport security guard got a bit of a surprise when she patted me down for sure ;D

So I turn up outside his home, complete with baggage of several varieties, both physical and mental, the smallest being my case – I guess all those off-world packs have ensured I travel light whenever I can. He's seen me from the window and he's at the door, pulling me out of the soft drizzle that can only be of the Californian kind. He hugs me, and I kinda ensure I'm leaning away.

What was wrong with me?!

Why do I not want my own brother to know that I am pregnant? He's standing right in front of me!

He's yakkity-yak... the kids are due later – both are at Saturday swim club, he calls for Susan who's in the kitchen, he asks me if I've seen Pete lately, and hey, take my coat off and have a cup of coffee.

I'm seriously chickening out.

I turn my back to him to unbutton my Mac. Damn, my fingers won't work properly; it must be that non-existent chill in the air. I manage to get my coat on the coat hook peeking out from the hall closet and smooth down my maternity blouse.

Turning around was one of the hardest things I've had to do outside of work. Fifth grade dance class was way easier than facing my own brother with the truth.

It didn't go well.

Mark gasped and fixated upon my stomach. "You're pregnant!"

"I know," I replied.

He gestured. "Is that Pete's?!" He practically shouted. Susan by this time had appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth.

I am calm. Not.

"What? No! I haven't seen Pete for months, since Dad's funeral."

Mark has his hands on his hips and bizarrely, I get a vision of dad standing in the kitchen of our old house, fuming over something. "Since you dumped him you mean!"

I don't know what to say. I suddenly feel extraordinarily protective over our child.

Mark is still gaping and Susan is still hovering. "I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."

At least I could tell the truth at this point. "I'm not; it's complicated." I begin to finger my coat sleeve hanging in the closet that I haven't quite moved away from.

A look comes over Mark's face, something quite alien... a sneer. "Is that some nameless sperm bank's kid?"

"What?! No! It's not like that. I mean... the baby's father is... Jack O'Neill."

My brother laughs in my face. "Your CO?! You screwed your boss? And I thought you were supposed to be so damn smart. You so stupid! You screwed your boss, and what? He knocked you up and the AF dropped you like a stone and where the hell is he?"

I hate him. I hate you. I hate myself.

"Huh? Where is he? DUMPED YOU?"

That was it.

I wrench my coat out of the open closest, grab my case, and was out of the front door before he and his insults could follow me.

It's now actually raining, I'm blundering out into a San Diego suburb that I don't know that well, and - yes! - the cab driver that dropped me from the airport is still parked near the sidewalk. I wave frantically and ignore my name being called.

"Sam!"

"SAM!"

"Please! Stop!"

It's not Mark... it's Susan. My hand is on the wet cab door handle, I pull it open and the driver is watching us with that amused indifferent look that only cab drivers can employ.

An umbrella appears over my head and a warm hand covers my own wet one that is clutching my case. "Sam, please, it's my house too, and you are welcome here; Mark can be so tactless sometimes."

I linger over the flight or fight. "I'm sick of this crap," I mutter. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to go to sleep and pretend that it is all not happening.

"I know, well, he's a man, what can you expect? Being an asshole is inbred onto the Y chromosome."

I still can't decide.

The cab driver's gruff tones called through the open window ruin the moment. "Look, lady... ladies, as much as this is all very touching, I-"

"Shut the heck up, can't you see she's upset and pregnant and everything?!"

Way to go Susan. My head is so heavy; I hang it down and close my eyes.

"Sam, please come in, I'm sorry. I'm an asshole." Mark's voice. Contrite. Concerned.

"I told her that already." Susan. Triumphant. Knowing.

"Sorry," I mumble to the cab driver, slam the door and turn around. As the cab moves off, a roar of disgust coming from the muffler, Mark takes my case and Susan holds my arm and by the time I get to their porch, I'm sobbing like a crazy woman. They practically pour me onto the sofa where Susan covers me with an afghan and Mark hugs me like he did after Dad died.

It takes me ages to get to the hiccoughing stage.

But then I calmly explain how I've got to this point and how determined I am to carry on and be the best mom I can be, hopefully continuing my career as much as practicable (leaving out the part about cosmic wormhole travel).

Mark is full of questions. What is the AF doing regarding S&R? Is the Taliban involved? Al-Qaeda? (He assumes you're in Afghanistan or Iraq and I am careful to neither confirm nor deny his suspicions – I HATE lying to them, but I know that you know it's for their own safety). Have I had all my medical checks? Does Pete know?

Damn, I haven't even given Pete Shanahan a second thought for months.

Fortunately, I am saved by the Junior Carters who burst in full of youth, exuberance, and chlorine. Shannon doesn't even notice me at first; she gained her one mile distance swim and is high on Life. Susan is thrilled and laughing and then gestures towards me. "Hey! Say hi to Auntie Sam, and some great news; she's having a baby!"

Bless you, Susan, announce it from the rooftops and it doesn't seem so... shameful.

Shannon is all over me then, hugging and touching and 'Can I feel it move?' and 'Can I see your tummy?' Steve is hanging back, a bit embarrassed by his sister's enthusiasm, perhaps?

"Steve, come and say hi - did you hear what I said? Auntie Sam is having a baby," Susan is patient and benign. Will I ever be like that?

Steven grunts, nods his head in my direction, and clomps up the stairs.

Susan rolls her eyes and sighs in Mark's direction. Mark winks back. "He's talkative today," he quips. So like Dad. And whether he likes it or not, Steve is the fair spit of him at the same age.

Shannon wants to know everything, so I dig out my ultrasound images and she's expertly pointing out the spine, the skull, and something that resembles a duck. Susan is smirking; teasing Shannon that she's far too maternal at 13 and that she'll be looking up chastity belts on eBay later. Shannon wants to know what a chastity belt is and Mark laughs his ass off at Susan's red face. Shannon flounces off to take out her braids with one of those looks that says; 'I know what you meant all along'. I notice her hair is like mine was at the same age. It's so normal, so family. For a moment, I felt part of a family and I haven't felt that since I was Shannon's age. Mark is so incredibly lucky and I don't think he even realizes.

This morning I went to Mass with everyone and I am relieved to say no thunderbolts tried to shoot me down when I stepped across the threshold. Yeah, you know it's been a while.

I've gotta go now, Mark is taking me to the airport and I need to pack.

Catch you flipside!

Sam

xxxxx


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday, July 29th 2007 – Officer's Quarters Area 51

Well, it's been a busy two weeks, so sorry no update.

As you can see, I'm back at Area 51, working on the Hermes and some other stuff. In fact, all my projects are progressing satisfactorily, ship, machine, and baby.

I am finding I'm quite liking being in charge of R&D here. Although I miss the field work, I relish being the boss. I enjoy the buzz of working with the civilian experts, but the military life is familiar. I hope my command of civilian teams as well as the military personnel has improved - I've learned so much from you, about how to deal with people; they are so much less predictable than electrons!

General Kerrigan seems to think so too. I had an interim review the day before yesterday and he was very encouraging. He was also urging me to think about a permanent position here after the baby is born, and Jack, I'm seriously considering it. I would love my child to have a stable home life like the type I didn't have. The work here is 9-to-5, Monday through Friday. Kerry even mooted the possibility of part time hours if I was interested. Again, I'm giving it careful thought.

I don't know if I could sell the house in Colorado Springs though – after all, that was also my dad's home.

More things to think about.

You always said I think too much.

Baby Carter/O'Neill is getting bigger and you know that AF maternity smock that looked ridiculously baggy 10 weeks ago? Well, it doesn't look so ridiculous now. I've got quite a belly.

Looking at myself naked is hysterical... but you know, I have to keep doing it. I can't believe that it is me in the mirror with my arms enfolding our much cherished child; I just never expected to find myself pregnant.

Oh! I am due to start ante-natal classes next week. I did investigate a Lamaze program but you have to attend with a partner.

Enough said.

Following on from my visit to Mark's, I've tried to keep open the lines of communication. It's a slow but sure thaw, I hope. Mark asked me if I would like him to tell Pete Shanahan about my condition. He's moved back to Denver as you know, and apparently found someone else. I'm glad; although it ended badly, I feel that it was mostly my fault. I'm cringing just thinking about our last conversation. I told Mark, yes, please, thank you very much, and Mark said he'd try but Pete seems to be avoiding him these days.

I hope I haven't caused a rift there – after all, my brother was only trying to help me find me a man that I could connect with. Of course, that man had really been three steps in front of me for nine years.

It's so HOT now, so I'm gonna hit my bunk to try and get some shuteye.

Catching your six,

Sam

xxx

Monday, July 30th 2007

What a fun day.

Rodney McKay was visiting from Atlantis. Obviously rumor control hasn't reached there yet because the look on his face when I emerged from behind a Hermes bulkhead with my bump preceding me was nothing short of comical.

He began making 'nggh'ing noises and gesturing towards me.

"You're pregnant!"

What is this? A replay of the conversation with Mark?

"I KNOW," I hiss through my teeth, fold my arms over my belly and give him THAT look. Jennifer Haley (who is also seconded here by the way) just about collapses behind a wiring loom.

McKay is so damn predictable. Until now.

He HUGS me! And kisses me on the cheek (weird) and cheerfully offers me congratulations and loudly announces that he thought I must have been a lesbian.

My response: "…."

Haley is making convulsing noises by this time; I've already told her she's going to pay!

Then, he doesn't even mention the baby and demands an update on the Hermes!

He is the most irritating man!

Gagh, it's way too hot for all those exclamation marks.

I'm heading for bed early – it was so humid last night and I hardly slept. My AC is cranky. And so am I.

Mental note to fix both tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 31st 2007

Long day.

Too hot to type.

AC still cranky.

McKay still annoying.

'Night.

S

x

Wednesday, August 1st 2007

Another long day

Don't feel so good

Sunday evening, August 5th 2007 – Area 51 Sickbay

Yeah, I'm in sickbay.

Dressed in white, on a drip and having to hide my laptop from the nurses.

It's like old times back at the SGC, except for being 28 weeks pregnant, of course. You're gonna be so mad at me, but let me explain.

Towards the end of Thursday afternoon, I was working on the port bulkhead of the Hermes. As you know, dry dock is 500 ft below the Nevada desert. The air is cooled (although I think that's more for the benefit of the sensitive electronics rather than the personnel!) but not enough when you have your own extra source of central heating. Oh why I couldn't I have arranged to get accidentally pregnant so that I could end my last trimester in the winter?

I was drinking as much as I could, but if I drink too much, I have to... well, you get the idea.

I guess I kinda skimped on lunch. Don't get mad, it's just so hot, I did get halfway through my pastrami bagel before I couldn't swallow any more. I should have called it quits then, I guess, but you know me. I had the bit between my teeth and we were just getting to the end of a problem with some pesky processors. I had hitched myself up through a crawlspace to check it out when I felt myself slip backwards. I could dimly hear Jennifer screaming for a medic, but then I fazed out for a while.

When I come to, Rodney McKay is kneeling over me. He's moving my arm and pulling up my leg. What the hell is he doing?! I feel myself being moved onto my side. What?! He's putting me into the recovery position, a bit awkward with the baby in the way. He knows the recovery position?

But he's gentle and talking to me the whole time, even though I think that he thinks I'm unconscious. I try to speak but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

I'm scared!

What's going on?

I feel like I'm on fire, but why is it so damn cold in here?

I can feel McKay ripping off my AF T-shirt, this is too surreal. He's giving orders. He's giving orders?

Now I'm being sponged down with a wet cloth. It's Rodney, cool handed, gentle Rodney.

I can't really remember the rest, but I understand that getting me out of that cavern was interesting. It seems that I made too many demands of my pregnant body and that I was in danger of a pyretic crisis. One iced water bath later, (I don't recommend it), lots of tutting over protein in my pee and I'm being admonished by the base CMO for not taking better care of myself.

Pah.

And McKay? Get this. His Dad was a gynecologist. Now doesn't THAT figure?

Not that I'm complaining; it seems his prompt action may well have saved me and the baby.

Like I said, surreal.

The next day, Daniel comes to visit, with General George in tow, of all people. They bring Tropicana, grapes and concern. I'm too tired to refute that so I let them fuss, dozing off and on.

At one point I awake and think I see Mark and Dad. I guess they could be. My brother and my father, that is.

I have AC, iced water and friends.

Right now, I don't need anything else.

Thursday August 9th 2007 FINALLY back in my quarters

I'M SO BORED!

B-O-R-E-D

BORED

BORED

BORED

I hate being on sick leave!!

Friday, August 10th 2007

The BEST news!

Daniel is coming back to visit! He'll be here tomorrow!

What a great friend he is, back and forth across two state lines in one week just so I don't start ripping the walls apart in frustration; I don't know how I could have got through the last few months without him.

Sam

xxx

Sunday, August 12th 2007 0949 hours

Hiya! Mother of your child here.

I've had a really lovely weekend. Daniel arrived as planned and brought Cameron Mitchell with him! You remember that we shared several classes at the AF academy and were stationed at the same Iraqi base back in '92? It was so good to see him again! Believe it or not, but we managed to bore Daniel with talking too much, hahaha! I am awed by the way Cam has got himself back into such good physical shape after Antarctica. He confessed that he still gets crippling back aches sometimes, but he can't forget that it could all have been much worse. He still tells the most awful cheesy anecdotes but he brought more of his mom's pie, which is just stunningly delicious. I vaguely remember his mom and dad coming to our Academy Graduation Parade. I recall his Dad on crutches and his mom in the biggest hat I've ever seen, both looking so proud. I recollect her asking where my parents were and it got kinda awkward; I avoided the truth for sure: My mom's dead and my Dad's too busy to attend.

She mothered me all day, clucking about 'skinny girls these days' and gave me the loveliest hug when she and Mr. Mitchell climbed into their Taurus to head home.

Isn't that odd – I remember something that happened nearly 20 years ago but sometimes in the dead of night I forget what you look like; I have to switch on my nightstand light and look at the photo of us. You know my favorite one – we're sittin' on the dock of bay fishing – I'm humming the song now. That was such a great day.

Anyway, nighty-night, lover boy.

Sam

xxxxx

August 13th 2007 – My office, R&D Area 51

Back at work!

Yes!

Well, to tell you the truth, I'm only allowed back part time, five hours a day, for four days a week - the base CMO has told me if my blood pressure goes up again, she'll sign me off onto sick leave until the baby comes. By the look on her face, she meant it, and Jack, you know I'd go stark raving nutso if that happened, so I'm behaving myself.

Rodney has been recalled back to Atlantis so I can't thank him personally again, but it does indeed look like he saved our lives.

Damn.

I'll never live that down!

Sam and Baby

x


	7. Chapter 7

August 20th 2007 – Officers' Quarters, Groom Lake, Nevada

30 **THIRTY** Three-oh Weeks pregnant

Ooookay -

this has been one weirdo day.

I'm off to Kansas tomorrow. Yes, you heard me – Dorothy is off to see Aunty Em. Well, actually Dr Bricksdale, who is still banged up in Fort Leavenworth. You remember that weasly British guy who was helping the rogue N.I.D. agents last year? He got the hand device to work to get them onto Osiris' Alkesh? It seems there may be a second cloaked Alkesh still orbiting! No, I didn't find it – I wish I had, but SG1 recovered some intel and they're sure it's kosher. Seems odd that – talking about SG1 and I'm not with them. Anyway, the hand device is here, (as in Area 51). Bricksdale got it to work before, so Cam, Dan and all think it would be a good idea if I personally take it to him – if we can't get it to work, surely no-one on Earth can. I've got medical clearance for the short hop from Nellis to AAF Sherman and then onto Leavenworth. The only stipulation is that I have to rest for four working days before flying back. I get furlough and I don't have to take it out of my leave! R-E-S-U-L-T!

I can hardly wait to go – it's not exactly like being back on SG1, but it's got to be more useful than signing R&D approvals, that's for sure!

That's not all. This bit is the weird part. Cam called me after the video conference and asked me something. Would I like to stay at his parent's place in Shawnee County? It's only 45 minutes drive from Leavenworth and he says it is the most relaxing place on the planet. I know a certain silver fox that would argue that point, but anyway... I thought about it... for two seconds and said yes. And then he was laughing at me, saying he'd better go and ask his mom now, hahaha!

Why in the many gods names have I said I will go and stay with some folks I've only met once?

Because they sound real, Jack. They sound alive and normal and they know nothing of the Stargate and alien incursions. I want real and normal for my child – our child, and I think you would too.

I said 'yes' and it was only a matter of minutes before Cam called me back and said that his mom and dad would be thrilled and honored to have me come visit. Honored? I tackled him then – damn! He's told them I'm some kind of Air Force hero and that my partner is MIA – and they know about the baby!

Damn, damn, damn!

It's not all the baby! For crying out loud! I'm my own person as well as a mother!

I'm a mother?

I'm a **mother**.

Ohmygod.

August 21st 2007 – Visitor's Quarters, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas 2047 hours

Here! At last!

The charter Lear was hit by low level turbulence over Utah, but the baby did not like it and my BP is still at 40 thousand feet. I was hauled off straight to the base doc who has grounded me for at least seven days! I feel like this is the longest pregnancy in history! At least I'm here now, the hand device is in the quartermaster's vault, and I see Bricksdale in the morning.

I called Mr. & Mrs. Mitchell and explained about the journey – I've agreed to update them tomorrow, which they are fine about.

I need to pee, eat and sleep, in that order!

(I'm having FUN though!)

Sam the Stupidly Pregnant person

xxxxx

August 22nd 2007 – Visitor's Quarters, Fort Leavenworth

Just a quickie update before I hit the mess.

I met with Derek Bricksdale this morning, and I gotta tell you, orange jumpsuits do not suit him. He must have dropped at least 25 pounds since last year, maybe more. Prison food? I guess we both know about that. He was nothing but co-operative and respectful – he even stood up when I waddled in – although he nearly tripped over his leg chains at the sight of me; I certainly haven't dropped 25 pounds! I ordered the restraints off ASAP much to the chagrin of the guards, but I just know he's not going to try anything, and I reckon I could still take him despite my center of gravity being somewhat off. We had to use one of the prison rooms to work, but engineers from the base had supplied everything I'd asked for and I brought some kit with me. Bricksdale worked all day without a break and was entirely 'Yes Ma'am, no ma'am'. He is desperately hoping for extradition back to England and he was so keen to make the device work.

All he wants is to go home.

I imagine that's how you feel every waking moment.

All **I** want is you home with us, both of us.

Sam

X

August 23rd 2007 – Visitor's Quarters, still at Fort Leavenworth

Job Done!

I won't bore you with the details – hell, yes! I will bore you with the details – wait while I get an apple and a doughnut to demonstrate, hahaha! So Cam and Dan were told by an escaped slave that she had been aboard an orbiting Alkesh that had been abandoned; there had been **three** in orbit near us last year! She described Earth perfectly, but also stated that the Alkesh had been placed in a high orbit around a dusty grey planet near Earth. I'm looking around - well, there's only one! When Osiris didn't return, her First Prime ordered everyone onto one Alkesh and they returned to Osiris' base in Lyre, the slave had gone AWOL in the confusion that followed, so go her. She was selling the intel for food (she's only 16) and had no other reason to lie, although it seems a certain PhD (Arch) has repatriated her to the Land of the Light. I love him!

Now, last year, the reason why we couldn't get Osiris' hand device to work to get aboard her cloaked vessel was that initially, it was coded to not only respond to Naquadah, but specific DNA, meaning that only she could use it. We know that Asgard transporter technology has an extremely long range - at least as far as the Earth's surface to a ship in a polar orbit of the Moon, so it is possible that it could still be usable – the girl may be mistaken about the third Alkesh being vacated. Which means, it's also possible that there could be at least one alien who is able to transport back and forth at will... or even one of the Trust? We know there could be any number of Goa'ulded Trust running about Earth since Kinsey was taken.

Bricksdale worked all day again using the samples of known Trust members' DNA that we had on file and just before we were going to quit - BINGO One of the Trust who were eliminated in that Trust/Kinsey sting was the key behind door number three.

YES!

We have access to Alkesh #3!

Derek thinks he's now going home. His conduct was exemplary so in a moment of weakness, I've approved his request.

He doesn't know that he'll be home sans the other million in his second Cayman Islands account that he thinks we don't know about.

HA.

It would be at this point that I would 'gate/transport/fly off to right some wrong, save a planet or two and blow up a sun on the side.

Instead I conference call the SGC, eat a light supper, draw a warm bath and rub stretch mark cream into my stomach.

And I'm okay with that.

Tomorrow, the Mitchells are coming to take me away from all this.

Later, 'gater.

S

xxxx

August 24th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas

Jack, you would love this place!

It's like something out of Better Homes & Gardens; gorgeous red clapperboard fascia, flowers everywhere (that's Wendy's doing), and Frank has an entire study room of books! Apparently it used to be a run-down farm, but the land got sold off and the Mitchells bought the building after Frank had his accident. Have you met him? Ties on Sundays man. He used to be a test pilot but something obviously went badly wrong because he's a double below the knee amputee. Not that it seems to have stopped him; because he can get around just fine on crutches. In fact he was the one who picked me up this morning. He's so charming – I was quite flustered!

By lunchtime my pitiful amount of gear was stored in the guest bedroom over the kitchen and I was sitting under a parasol in the yard having chicken salad and iced tea. I was relaxed, happy, and contented for the first time in many months. I chatted amiably with Frank and Wendy Mitchell and as I did, I realized that Cam has his father's eyes and his mother's mouth and I couldn't help but wonder whose traits our child will inherit. Your intuition? Your moral sense? Your ass?

I've don't think I've ever been made more welcome in such a short space of time. Frank is an intelligent and well-read man (well, it's no wonder with all those books). I can tell he doesn't buy the deep space telemetry cover at all but he's tactful enough not to press the point. Perhaps he's shielding his wife from worry over Cam's position? They must have gone through hell after he was injured in Antarctica.

Wendy and I have really hit it off. I can't believe that two such different women should get along so well. I teased her that she's Auburn's answer to Martha Stewart; seriously, even her bathroom has chintz drapes! She loves cooking! We have a hot date to cook soufflé tomorrow. She wants to know all about the baby and asked me many questions about you.

She also asked me if I was okay with that; talking about you I mean, and you what? It was okay. Absolutely okay. I spent my first trimester avoiding talking about you, the second half watching other people avoiding talking about you and the last trimester wanting someone to talk about you. I showed her all the photos I had (not many, most are at Casa Carter in Colorado Springs). She showed me some scrapbooks that she's compiled. There are some cute ones of Cam and his kid brother Andy. Apparently scrapbooking is the new TV? Why did I not know this? HAHAHA!

I did like what she has done though, and I've been thinking about the best way to introduce you to our infant. She's going to take me to something called a 'crop' on Monday night.

DON'T say it.

I've just realized why I like her.

She could be my mom if mom had lived. She even has the same hair.

Anyway, it's late now and I'm gonna hit my FOUR-POSTER pine bed complete with Laura Ashley drapes (no, I didn't know either but they're pretty).

I wish you were here,

S

xxx

Saturday, August 25th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 1015

..and about to hit the road.

Hey! I got to lie in! I woke at 0930! Just outside my room was a tray of breakfast things and a note to say that Wendy and Frank have gone into town for supplies but wanted to leave me sleeping. I've had a shower and now I'm off exploring. The land here is mercifully flat (hills are tough when your lungs are being pushed up into your shoulders!), the roads are quiet and it's a gorgeous day!

TTYL!

S

X

Later on August 25th

Remind me NOT to do that again in a hurry.

The roads may be flat but they're loooooooooong,

I strode off with my Evian and my cell phone and strode off and strode off. I was intending to do a quick circuit, past a small spinney I'd seen in the distance, but dumbass I am, I got lost! How I can get lost on land that resembles a checkerboard I'll never know. The Pegasus Galaxy and back? No sweat. A (supposedly) short walk around a town with a scattered population of 2000? Forget it!

I'd been plodding for about forty minutes, thinking I recognized the road, heading back to the Mitchell's place. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the roads were deserted. Then came that awful feeling that I didn't, in fact, recognize the road at all. I walked for a further fifteen minutes, fixing the horizon by some low lying hills (flint, I think Frank said they were) in the distance, and then I was sure. By this time, my water was almost gone, my breakfast was a distant memory, and it was getting very hot. I'm only wearing a thin sleeveless top and maternity pants and don't shout at me, but I didn't pack a hat.

I did the sensible thing and called the Mitchells to 'fess up so they could come and rescue me.

Well, I would have done.

No signal on my shiny new Nokia.

Damn.

Kept walking.

Kept walking.

Jack, I was getting quite scared. Me. Scared

I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was putting the baby in danger again. Once at Area 51 by misjudging the temperature and fluid intake was one thing but then a repeat performance two weeks later? What an idiot! How in the name of Apophis can I even think that I can be a responsible parent when I can't even manage it before the kid arrives!

I can see some houses on the horizon but they're across a field. A planted field. They are closer as the crow flies than following the gridlined blacktop so I take the decision; I need to find shelter and water quickly. I make like a crow and hitch my tusch down into that ditch only to discover that there is a fence at the bottom.

Oh man.

I eye the road, regard the fence and reassess the distance of the houses.

I try my cell for the 57th time.

Zilch.

It's now or never.

The fence is made of metal slats and looks new, that is, sturdy enough to take me plus one half. I climb up and over…

… only to learn the ditch is water-logged and slopes up at a much steeper angle than I'd realized.

I'll never get up the incline with the size I am now.

I don't believe it.

I'm swigging the last of my water when my knight in shining armor arrives. Actually, it's a hillbilly in plaid and a beat-up pick-up truck. "Ma'am!" I crane my neck up to see a surprisingly handsome face showing a great deal of concern, which doubles when he realizes my condition.

He yells down; "Are you okay? I saw you from the road.. did you fall?"

I'm clinging onto the fence like it's a lifeline. "Umm.. no.. I got lost.. I'm lost."

I can't believe how pathetic that sounds. I'm so mad at myself, I'm seven months dumb!

He scrambles down the slope and I'm suddenly very aware that I'm in an extremely vulnerable position and my handgun is safely in my luggage back at the Mitchell homestead.

Crap.

Well, he can't try anything with a steel fence between us unless he has a weapon, so I recce the surroundings for something I can use. I get nothing.

I flip open my cell phone in desperation and press redial.

"I doubt you'll get a signal, Ma'am, two cell repeaters went down last year after the big twister and the phone companies haven't replaced them."

He's right.

I regard the man in front of me. Although his clothes suggest hillbilly, the large hazel eyes betrayed intelligence and capability. Strands of dark brown hair poked out from under a back-to-front ball cap, a concession to youth from the 40-something.

While I'm looking at him, he's appraising me.

"Ma'am I-"

"Samantha Carter," I offer. I get a good feeling about him.

He nods in thanks. "Ms. Carter, we do this one of two ways. I can leave you here and go get help-"

"I'm visiting Frank & Wendy Mitchell."

Well, if he's going to strangle me and leave me for dead, he may as well know who he is killing, right?

"I can go get Frank – I went to school with Cam by the way, George Washington High, class of '87 – or I can help you over and we can have you sipping Mrs. Mitchell's glorious iced tea in ten minutes."

This was no hillbilly for sure. The prospect of iced tea sounded heavenly. And he knows Cam.

"David Pryce, Pryce with a 'Y'." A beefy but well manicured hand is thrust over the fence by way of a handshake.

What the hell.

I take his hand, not in a handshake but as a steadying grip and begin to climb. "Mr. Pryce-"

He plants his feet apart to hold my weight and my left leg swings back over the fence. "Dave," he hisses through clenched teeth, and his free arm circles where my waist used to be.

"Okay, Dave, do you regularly rescue dumb pregnant women on your way home from work?" I make my way gingerly back to the sensible side of the fence, conscious that my baby-tummy is right in my new found friend's eye line.

I hit terra firma.

The responding smile is smooth and expensive. He drops his hands. "Actually, I only do rescues Monday through Thursday, but I'm feeling generous, so you got lucky... Hey!"

I guess I must have done some sort of eye-roll-back-into-the-head thing because the next moment I knew I was being guided up the slope and eased into the passenger seat of the Chevy pick-up. A bottle of water is thrust into my hand.

"Sorry, but I've had some out of that," he apologizes.

"I don't care. Thanks!" I glug the liquid back, grateful as it practically hisses against my throat.

You know I've had worse, usually in prison.

Dashing Dave jumps into the driver's seat and he's right about the ten minutes; the pick-up's engine is idling outside the Mitchell's and I'm already feeling so much better, but I also realize that I was totally on the wrong road. I'm also grateful that my hosts aren't back yet; after all, I'm supposed to be so smart, aren't I?

I turn to my rescuer. "Mr. Pryce-"

"Dave."

I smile at his persistence. "Dave. I can't thank you enough."

He waves off my appreciation, but he has no idea.

"Can I ask you - where would I have got to if I'd just kept going straight?"

"Nebraska."

"Oh."

My knight in shining armor indeed, complete with Chevy stead.

He saved my considerable ass today, Jack.

Like I said, remind me NOT to do that again in a hurry.

S

Xxxx

August 26th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0912 hours

Some bad news, for the Mitchells at any rate. Wendy Mitchell's Auntie died yesterday. Actually, her sort-of Auntie; her mom's best friend and Wendy used to be best friends with her daughter.

Apparently the funeral is going to be held quite quickly – it seems her passing was expected, but it's over in Wichita. Wendy and Frank are trying to decide what to do.

Death may be expected, but it still sucks.

S

X

August 26th - 1209 hours

Okay, it's all decided. Mr. & Mrs. Mitchell are packing right now – they're going to drive to Wichita for the funeral, which is the day after tomorrow and then come home right after. I'm staying right here – remember I'm not supposed to travel for a further four days? Wendy has ensured I have enough to eat for the next millennia and Frank has shown me how the generator works – a pretty simple oil-fired job, no sweat. They are full of profuse apologies but I won't have it; they are paying their respects and that is what is important. I'm just sorry I'll be without their company; I genuinely enjoy their amity. I guess I can catch up on my reading!

August 26th - 2030 hours

I'm so stuffed! Meatloaf, a field of vegetables and apple pie to die for. Also, food for the brain as well as the stomach: Frank's library ranges from Austen and Attenborough to Zane Grey, and even quite an involved volume on Boolean algebra!

But I'm ashamed to say it; I'm a bit bored.

I guess I should be grateful for the peace and quiet; I surely won't get that once the baby comes.

Sam the bookworm

xxxx


	8. Chapter 8

Monday, August 27th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas

Oh Jack, I've had such a lovely day!

Just after breakfast this morning there was a knock on the Mitchell's screen door – it was David Pryce bearing flowers and a six pack of Evian, ha-ha.

I invited him in (I didn't think that Frank and Wendy would object) and we chatted for a while. I explained about their absence and then we got onto the subject of Cam. He knows that Cam is USAF but doesn't know where he is stationed, so it was easy to bluff my way through what he did and how I know him.

Then we got onto the subject of – my husband. The third finger of my left hand was being checked out. I'm getting that a lot now. I haven't yet lied, but I've certainly misled by omission.

Not this time.

"There's no husband."

"Oh."

I went no further.

Then I got asked out for the day, on a sightseeing trip to Topeka.

Perhaps I should have said no thanks, but I said yes. I hope that you can understand why.

He showed me all around the state capital with the finesse of a seasoned tour guide. We had lunch in a little bistro near the City Hall where I told him about you, at least as far as Section 11-C9 of the National Security Act will allow.

He listened in silence.

I felt quite safe – I mean he can't be 'interested' in me. I also felt guilty at one point, sitting in the sunshine racking up a little pleasure but it was just a trip with a new friend. And I'm glad I did go - I had such a fun time...

.. and I enjoyed Dave's company.

Charming, attentive, polite.

But not you.

xxxxxx

August 28th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas

I spent the day with Dave again.

He called round and we spent the morning talking, reading and sipping iced tea sitting on Wendy's swinging seat on the porch out back.

The erstwhile hillbilly is apparently a lawyer in Washington and has come back to the family homestead to instruct the realtors concerning the sale of his parent's old home (his Dad has been dead for 20 years, his mom last year). The truck he is driving was his Dad's! He was having a problem with the generator so I offered to take a shot at it - you should have seen his face when I asked, ha-ha!

I spent two deliciously oily hours with one of my old towels strapped to the bump stripping back the engine while we chatted. He's divorced, no kids and judging by the way he was talking, it all happened a long time ago. He asked more questions about you and I hope I made it clear that although you weren't here, I would be carrying on as if you were.

His company is welcome, he seems so charming... he reminds me of someone though, I can't think who right now.

When we were packing away his tools, I had to straighten up because the baby was kicking me hard. I guess I rubbed my stomach – I really don't know why I do that, I don't think junior can feel it but it seems somehow – instinctive. Dave asked me if he could feel the kicking, and I let him. Well, random strangers walk up to me in Wal-Mart and seem to think that my belly is fair game so why not a nice guy? He thought it was fantastic; so enthusiastic... perhaps it's Daniel that he reminds me of.

When Dave left, I felt... lonely. This was compounded by Wendy calling to say that they won't be home until late tomorrow afternoon – and I'm leaving the day after that. I'm so sorry that I didn't get more time with them.

I tidied up, fixed a snack, and did some laundry. I gotta say that the lack of clothing is beginning to annoy me. Oh! What shall I wear today – I can that one or that one! I did buy some clothes with the thought that I may wear them after the baby is born, but I think they'll be going straight in the trash because I am so sick of them!!

S

xxx

August 29th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0925

Well, it's the start of another beautiful day – although the temperature is hitting the late '70s, there's a fall smell in the air. Wendy has just called to say that they are on their way and I am so looking forward to their return!

I think I might fix them my Soufflé a la Carter for dinner.

S

X

August 29th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas

I have no idea what the time is, but it's late.

Something happened today.

I don't know how to tell you this.

I've betrayed you in the worst way.

I can't bear it.

August 30th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0217

Yeah, it's a quarter after two in the morning.

I can't sleep; bad conscience I guess you'd call it.

I had a compulsion to write this down, but who the hell is going to read it besides me? What the hell am I doing? Am I writing to a dead man?

0235

I don't know why I'm keeping up this damn diary. Daniel said that when you came home, you would want to know how I was feeling and how the baby was doing at each stage. I've just read over some past entries and I've noticed that on quite a few, I don't even mention the kid – it's all about me. I can't believe how wrong that is!

Daniel was mistaken – he should have never suggested this.

Especially after yesterday.

0313 

Well, it seems Mr. Pryce is not just a lawyer in Washington, he's one of THE lawyers in Washington. High profile corporate cases, a buddy of Bill Gates, ENRON, Exxon Oil, you name one of the biggies in the past few years; he's probably had a hand in it.

That wasn't the only thing he misled me about.

HOW could I have been so stupid as to not notice the signs?!

I am so sure that I did not send him the wrong signals, I'm positive of it.

But that doesn't stop me hating myself. I hate myself, Jack; I'm disloyal and weak.

You will never, ever deserve that.

0324

Screw it.

I will get this down, but then that's it; I am not reading it through again.

Shortly after 10 o'clock yesterday morning, I heard Dave's – I'm not sure what to call him now, actually, him I guess – his pick-up pull into the yard. I thought he must be having another problem with it, but no, it was just a social call. Another social call. I didn't think any more of it at first. I had no idea that getting knocked up would destroy a few billion brain cells.

Hi Dave! C'mon in Dave! Have a cup of coffee, Dave!

We talked while I busied about in the kitchen, yadda, yadda, everything is fine. Or so I thought.

Then he excuses himself; I assume he's gone to the bathroom. I didn't hear him come back, but then I got that feeling when you know you are being watched.

I turned around.

It was such an odd scene. The picture of domestic bliss; the chintz-bedecked windows are flung open to the air, the sun is streaming in, the birds are singing, and I'm up to my elbows in flour and baby.

And he's looking at me.

In that way.

In THAT way.

I think I must be mistaken.

I kinda half-smile and babble comes from out of my mouth. I get the feeling he doesn't want another macaroon when he walks towards me not taking his eyes off my face. I suddenly remember who he reminds me of – Joseph Faxon.

Yes, that's it, Joe Faxon.

I'm not afraid, not like the first day when he hauled me out of that ditch.

But I am nervous. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest.

He walks over and I find I can't move. I can't talk either then.

When he touches my face I let him. His hands are smooth; the hands of lawyer, not of a soldier. When he leans closer, he smells of Aramis and when I close my eyes, I could imagine you. You know how much I love that scent.

I think he's touching my lips when I realize that I'm being kissed, softly, tenderly.

But he's not you.

When he pulls back, I manage to open my eyes and speak. "David-"

He breathes into my ear, "My Sunday name."

"David, I'm pregnant." I cannot imagine for five nano-seconds that he is genuinely attracted to me.

He smiles. He's not exactly undesirable and my heart rate hitches up a notch. "I kinda noticed." He rubs his gently curled knuckles against my stomach.

"-with another man's child." My trump card.

It doesn't deter him. He spreads his fingers out across the baby and strokes a little more firmly and his other hand is cupping my chin, the thumb caressing my cheek.

Something uncurls from deep within me. A heat, a tightening, a **longing**.

He's not you.

But if I close my eyes again...

I.

Can.

Pretend.

His lips are on mine once more, his tongue licking and needy. When I open my mouth to respond, I know what I'm doing, exactly what I'm doing. One of his hands has somehow found its way under my blouse and just the feeling of a tender breast being massaged is powerfully arousing.

My temperature is soaring and I can't stand it any more. I kiss him back harder and when his cool hand moves from my chest and trails down the naked, stretched skin that is so sensitive, I moan in appreciation.

When the kiss breaks, he whispers my name, Samantha caressing the back of my neck. As his hand reaches the crotch of my maternity pants, I shift my legs so that they are apart and I'm willing and wanting him to do it. The hand that's on my neck moves down my back to draw me closer and I can feel his burgeoning erection. He tugs at the drawstring of my pants and presses firmly between my legs. I want to be stretched and filled and urged on to be completely carnal.

I want him.

I want **it** so badly. And I still haven't opened my eyes.

His tongue sweeps around my mouth and I suddenly experience the desire for oral sex, right here, right now. It was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

The skin of my stomach tightened then, an intense spasm that made me break the kiss and my eyes snapped open.

One word.

"No."

My hands flattened against his chest and pushed him slowly away.

I repeated. "No. It's wrong. No."

David dropped his hands as if he had been stung.

I don't know how long we looked at each other, but when he turned to leave, my heart was still pounding and my face was still burning. My nipples were fully erect, pushing uncomfortably against the lace of my new maternity brassiere. My hands found their way to the baby, cradling the form, soothing away the tremor.

The only thing I could hear was my own breathing, loud and uneven.

I was startled when Dave re-appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying his jacket. I was about to speak, to say what, I haven't a clue, when he raised his hand. "I'm going and I won't come back."

I nodded.

He turned to leave again, but then hesitated, fingering the door jamb as if it would provide the answers to all the world's ills. "Jack is dead, Sam. If the Taliban or any of those fanatics had captured a high ranking Air Force general alive, they would have been screaming for a ransom and parading him on TV long before now. You're being loyal to a memory. And for what my opinion is worth to you, your child is going to need more than a memory to attend their elementary school play or cheer from the bleachers at Little League."

He paused, his gaze intense. "And so will you." A parting shot across the bows.

He was gone.

I heard the screen door slam and his truck roar to life and the only thing left of him was the swirling vortex of dust generated from his retreating vehicle and the taste of bile in my throat.

SJSJSJSJSJSJSJ

Much later, after the Mitchell's return and a jolly meal, complete with a perfect Soufflé au Fromage, butternut squash risotto and my phony jocundity, I excused myself and sought refuge in the yard under the stars, guiltily reveling in the perfume of the night scented stock.

For some reason, I could not get a 10th grade English Lit. class out of my head. If a raging Puritan minister had appeared from the gloom behind the barn, screaming hell and damnation, insisting upon that scarlet letter, I would have freely affixed the 'A' upon my chest and hung my head in shame and let the tears fall in self-disgust.

In the purple-crimson rays of the fading day, my heart ached for you.

But I am so afraid that you are dead.

Wendy came out with hot chocolate and Kleenex. I couldn't tell her why I was crying but obviously she knew something was wrong. She held me as my mother used to and it just hurt all the more.

When the tears were spent, she led me back to the guest room, took off my sneakers, and covered me with one of her pretty quilts. She smoothed back my hair and stroked my hand and switched off the light on her way down to her husband.

I lay in the dark.

Sleep? Perchance to dream?

I don't think so.

And here I am.

And now I've told you.

But I've done it and I can't undo it.

All this needs to stop being about me and start being about our child.

I need to move on despite it all.

I need to paint the nursery, I need to go buy a stroller, I need to make a future.

Samantha Carter. Betrayer. Whore. Coward.

August 30th 2007 – Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 1112

I'm trying to decide if this diary, for want of a better name, is worth the effort. Sitting up half the night unburdening myself onto a hard drive is all very cathartic, but it doesn't aid insomnia.

Anyway. The highlights:

I'm not going back to Nevada; the air transport from Sherman is taking me to Edwards AFB and Landry has arranged a staff car (SG1 are off-world) directly to my home in 'Springs and that is where I'm living until I have the baby. I'll make the long term decisions then, based on what is best for the child. Right now, my health and thus the baby's health are not compatible to the peripatetic lifestyle that I seem to be adopting. I called Kerry Kerrigan and explained that I wouldn't be returning to Nevada and why, which he was fine about. He offered to have my personal equipment and meager belongings forwarded to me at Cheyenne, for which I thanked him profusely. Normally I would have returned to my post and conducted a thorough handover, but I simply can't make yet another long-haul journey. I'll be working at the CMC, and the details of the role will be thrashed out between me, Hank and personnel when I get back.

Landry did bring up the subject of part-time work again. All the Washington Post articles I've ever read concerning the failure of working mothers to perpetuate successful careers once kids appear did inundate my sensibilities, but screw it, I said I'd think over.

I have to go now. I want to say a proper good bye to Frank and Wendy Mitchell for their hospitality and the loan of their lovely home for the past week. They are such sweet people and I feel ashamed every time I think about what happened in their kitchen. Cameron is very lucky.

Carter


	9. Chapter 9

August 31st 2007 – Colorado Springs 

It was a long but uneventful journey back. I tossed my stuff in the corner of the bedroom, hit the shower and went to bed straight after.

I slept without waking – unusual for me these days – normally I have to use the bathroom at least once during the night.

I was woken by that strange spasm across my stomach. It's so peculiar; not like anything I've experienced before. When I eventually did head towards the bathroom, I noticed something in the dim mirror so went to check it out in the larger, better-lit bedroom closet mirror.

No, I wasn't mistaken.

An odd dark line has appeared on the bump. It stretches up the middle from my pubic hairline almost to my navel, which is an odd popped-out shape these days.

A line. Right along where Pryce touched me.

I stared at it for a long time.

Daniel once told me about how you sprung him from the SGC after the second Abydos mission. He remembers feeling utterly alone and you hauled him back to your house, fed him pizza and got him drunk on one bottle of Bud. You were his only friend. You talked about Charlie. You said that although you could sometimes make yourself forget about him, you could never forgive yourself.

That's kinda how I feel.

And this stain on my skin will remind me.

I've been branded.

Marked as the whore I am.

C

August 31st 2007 – Colorado Springs

I don't if I'm going to carry on with this, I really don't.

C

September 9th 2007 – My house, Colorado Springs – late.

Yeah, I'm back.

I'm turning into a proper Henry Longfellow, aren't I?

A lot has happened.

I'll start on the Monday when I returned to work at the SGC.

Carolyn practically pounced on me before I'd got one toe in the door. I was not in the mood for a physical and I told her that in no uncertain terms, but she said that if I didn't comply, she would sign the UFD papers. Bitch. That's all I need; an Unfit For Duty stamp in my medical records.

But in actual fact, after the exam, I felt better.

My BP and the protein in my pee are under control. I've still got to rest more, watch my salt intake, rest more, minimize stress... oh, and rest more. But I'm out of the danger zone indicative of pre-eclampsia. Do you know about that? Very simply, it is a set of symptoms that are exacerbated by high blood pressure and can seriously affect the mother's health and then the baby's. We could both die. So not good.

The spasms that I'm feeling off and on are practice contractions called Braxton Hicks and although it's a little early to feel them so strongly, apparently it's a good sign. I just need to alert the med center when they start to become regular.

The line on my stomach is called a linea nigra and is the result of pregnancy hormones that increase production of skin pigments, that's all. So not a brand from David Pryce, it's something quite common and normal that will fade quickly after delivery. Apparently.

However, I still think of it as a mark of unfaithfulness. When I look at myself in a mirror I see the line and I'm cast straight back into that kitchen.

But I said I wouldn't dwell.

Daniel and Cameron returned on the Wednesday. They did indeed recover an Alkesh, right where Bricksdale thought it was; in orbit around the moon. The cloaking device is some sort of super-shield which also emits a unique energy signature. My team at Area 51 – correction – someone else's team at Area 51, are so intrigued by the frequency harmonics, they are convinced it's something more. A homing beacon? A resonating key to unlock... something? I've asked to take a look at all the data and the cannibalized parts, but that may take a while.

And I'm running out of time.

I've asked to work right up until the baby is born and to have six months maternity leave afterwards.

It seems a lot, but I've got a feeling I'll busier than I've ever been.

If I can't stay faithful to you, at least I can do that for your child.

Be right back, I need to pee.

SJSJSJSJSJSJ

So Daniel came round on the Thursday after he had rested, told me about the Alkesh and told me more about the worrying emergence of the Ori – they are definitely supplanting the Goa'uld as the enemy of the moment. When I made him coffee he didn't take his eyes off me and kept asking me what was wrong.

Damn him. He knew something was off and he wouldn't let it lie.

And I couldn't lie. Not to him; he's been too good a friend to me and too faithful to you for me to deceive him.

I told him. Every sordid detail.

I fully expected him to purse his lips together in that way he does and just leave, but... he didn't.

He asked me if I was going to cry and I said no; there would be no more tears – I had cried an apocalyptic deluge over you (and me) and I had done what I had done and it was time to just get on with it.

He was silent for a moment and then…

.. and then..

asked me to marry him.

He offered me an open marriage, secure for the child and me but he stipulated that I would be free to pursue another relationship whenever I wanted.

To say I was astonished was an understatement, so I obviously asked for an explanation. It seems he has thought about me every day since I told him I was pregnant, and he nearly asked me before, the day we visited the special needs school, but the hope that you would be back stopped him. He's not surprised that someone has shown an interest in me and brushed aside away my protestations of being repulsively whale-like. Apparently, with some remote communities, not only is it a turn on, it's actually a requirement to be so well and truly stuffed before marriage. A sort-of 'Hey, look at me, look how fertile I am' statement. Not so remote it seems, if Pryce is anything to go by. Above all, Daniel just wants us to be safe.

I asked him outright: "Would you have sex with me?"

I'll admit he did blink a lot before he squeaked out: "What... now?"

I smiled. For such an intelligent man, he can be incredibly naïve. "No, I mean, being in a marriage with sex."

I thought he was going to fall off the sofa! "A marriage with sex?" he said, "Isn't that kinda unusual?"

My look sobered him and he thought for a moment. "Well, I hadn't… if you wanted it, yes. But that's not a condition. I'd never ever force it, Sam."

He's amazing. "You'd do that for me? You'd give up the chance of finding happiness for yourself?"

He was resolute. "For you and the baby, and for Jack."

What could I say? Life as the wife of Daniel Jackson would never be dull, we're very similar in many ways, we've always understood each other (unlike you and I), I know he would make an excellent father and I do love him…. but not in the way he merits. He deserves the chance to find love, for **himself**.

I told him that. And that the answer was no, but I will never ever forget what he just offered.

The goodbye hug was one of the tenderest I've ever had the fortune to experience. He held me close (difficult these days) and told me in no uncertain terms that I should not feel guilty over a relative stranger taking advantage of my hormone-crazed physiology – it was Pryce at fault, not me.

And if he ever met this guy he would stick a staff weapon so far up his... well, you get the idea.

It didn't help diminish my remorse, however, but like I said, I'll have to live with it.

I need to pee again (sorry).

SJSJSJSJSJ

The very next morning, the US Mail brought me a timely reminder.

A letter, expensive paper, the address handwritten.

It was from him and I don't mean Daniel.

I've scanned it in as text because after I'd done that, I shredded the hard copy..

_Dear Samantha,_

_If you're reading this I guess I'm relieved that you haven't tossed it in the trash, which is probably where I belong. I'm sure you think that and I would honestly agree with you._

_This letter is by way of a profuse and heartfelt apology for my despicable behavior towards you at Frank and Wendy Mitchell's home. Although I cannot apologize for the fact that I was strongly attracted to you, I am horrified that I made sexual advances when you had made it clear several times that you were not available._

_Since you left, I have been thinking constantly about what I did, disgusted that I took advantage of a vulnerable pregnant woman. However, I am not writing to alleviate my guilty conscience, that's for me to swallow._

_If you want to toss this now, that's fine by me; I'd understand._

_However, if you read on, I hope that you might understand that it was not you that made this mistake, it was all my fault._

_During my third year at Harvard Law School, I met a girl, a history student in her final year. Sam, I loved her so much. All I wanted to do then was get my law degree, maybe move back close to my mom and start up a regular small town America law practice, get hitched and have a couple of kids. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. I was over the moon! We moved into a little apartment above a Chinese food store and I took a night shift job there to pay the rent while continuing my studies. It was incredibly hard work, but life was so sweet with Hillary._

_Or so I thought._

_When she told me she was pregnant, my joy was complete; I arranged to drop out of college and take a clerical job to support my wife and expected child. I came home the day I sent in the withdrawal paperwork and found her sitting next to two boxes full of her stuff._

_She was leaving, she said._

_Daddy was waiting for her outside, she said._

_What about the baby, I said_

_There's no more baby, she said._

_Sam, she killed our child. Don't get me wrong, I'm pro-choice if the situation is right but she didn't even consult me about an abortion. There's something else that you don't know about me – I'm adopted. My mom tried to help me find my birth parents after my dad died but I found out that my birth mom was already dead and my birth dad unknown. Basically, my wife had killed the only other person that would have been genetically related to me. I still don't know why she did it._

_I got served with divorce papers just three days later, so it was obvious that it was all planned. I went back to my college tutors, retracted my withdrawal forms, and nearly killed myself studying to graduate suma cum laude. One of the first cases I researched as an associate was a lawsuit brought against the construction company that Hillary's father owned. I ensured I helped to destroy his business, to destroy him and his daughter. And they never knew it was me._

_I've never been able to trust any other woman, because I knew what they were capable of and what I was capable of doing to them in return. Whenever anyone gets close, I always feel I have to test them to destruction._

_You are the first woman to pass that test, and you didn't bottle out of the baby situation. You can imagine how I feel about that._

_Sam, you have my utmost respect and admiration for your loyalty and resolution._

_Jack is one lucky man._

_Enclosed with this letter is my business card. On the back are two numbers. One is my private office line and the other is my cell phone. If you ever, ever need a good lawyer (and I'm good) please don't hesitate to call me. Any time, day or night. Pro bono, because I owe you for opening my eyes to the fact that there are still some faithful people left in the world._

_I humbly beg your forgiveness, and I ensure you of my best attention if you ever require it,_

_David Pryce. _

I haven't replied yet. I don't think I've forgiven myself, but I understand him a bit more.

And I kept the business card.

Carter


	10. Chapter 10

September 28th 2007 – CMC

I gave this a break for a while, mainly because there wasn't much I wanted to say and I needed a break.

I love being back at the SGC and the transition between Groom Lake R&D and operations is going smoothly - I'm just hoping I can make this succeed on a part-time basis when I return from maternity leave. It's not just the work; much of it has to do with our friends here and the unwavering support that I have been afforded, I can get quite emotional about it, actually.

The baby is still growing! I'm pretty big now, I'm kinda scared as to how much more I will expand as I feel so heavy and off-balance as it is. I've gone up two dress sizes and I'm out of breath just walking to the mess. My back hurts, my breasts hurt, my knees hurt and it's hard to sleep with something akin to a bag of wet sand on your stomach, I assure you. The baby still moves, but it's a slower, deeper movement than the early days, and if I get kicked, it can hurt! I'm thinking this baby is a future soccer star! My tests are all still fine, so I'm grateful for that. I've taken advantage of regular working hours and started swimming twice a week. I even joined an 'aqua natal' class. There's me and some other fellow whales splashing about in the pool for an hour, then we towel off and go for root beer and Oreos to compare stretch marks and bitch about the thin young things that frequent the poolside. Ha. Wait 'till they get knocked up - pregnant revenge can be so sweet.

On Thursday, Daniel and I are visiting the special needs school in Denver again. We have a check for them (proceeds of the CMC runway walk, don't worry, I just cheered from the sidelines) and Daniel wants to catch up with Dan (it's his birthday on Saturday). I also get the impression that Dan is not the only one that Daniel has been emailing and that Sylvie is more than just Dan's mom to our gentle Doctor of Archeology.

I'm getting nervous about the delivery. I've read every horror story about childbirth there is and wished I hadn't. I won't enlighten you on my chances of winding up dead or paralyzed, but let's just say that I've revised my will. Daniel asked to act as the child's guardian (you would have guessed that, right?) in the event of my death, so he gets a third in trust, Cassie gets a third and junior gets the last third. George Hammond has agreed to act as executor, although I thought he was gonna blub on me when I was discussing 'in the event of my death'. After Daniel nagged me senseless about claiming some of your assets for said offspring, I did investigate. We're not married, obviously, but paternity is going to be easy to prove with the amount of blood screening we've both endured over the years. I hope you're okay with that.

I called Dave Pryce. Well, he said to if I needed a first-class attorney, right? He was as good as his word. His specialty is corporate law but he's commissioned another partner in his practice to act on my behalf once the baby is here and bloods can tested. They're fairly confident that they can claim but you would have to be declared dead first. And I'm really, really not up to dealing with that right now. Pryce understood, was polite, respectful and backed off.

Tomorrow, I'm hosting a BBQ. Daniel, Cameron and Teal'c are coming over to paint the nursery; it's totally about damn time. When I got back from Kansas, I went baby-shopping online and now all the furniture is stored in my garage next to the Indian and your truck – there's no room for my Volvo!

C

September 29th 2007 – CMC

Well, after not updating for three weeks, you get two in 24 hours.

The nursery is finished!

I decided on a chequerboard of pastels for the walls, pine furniture and 40 shades of Irish green soft furnishings. O'Neill and all that.

I think it looks perfect - I wish you were here to see it.

The BBQ went well. I grilled stuff and fixed fajitas and it was pretty much DIY. No sweat.

Daniel brought his camcorder and filmed without me realizing. He showed me the footage later and I can't believe how much I've changed. Obviously, I'm 40 pounds heavier but that's not what I mean. My hair is so long now, I braid it mostly for work but it doesn't look like me when I wear it down. I'm still not sure that I'll keep it – long hair seems a bit impractical with a baby in tow. I also look... softer. My edges seem blurred; I guess my muscle tone is shot to hell.

Daniel says it's contentment, but that seems dumb.

I regarded the woman in the playback and wondered if you would recognize her, I've changed so much physically and mentally from the dork who challenged you to an arm-wrestling contest nine years ago.

I just never expected to enter into a relationship with you, let alone end up pregnant with your baby.

I wonder if you suspected?

I don't deserve you.

Carter

October 5th 2007 – My house

Finally in October! The baby is due on the 27th and I have to admit, I've had enough. The morning haul up the turnpike is getting to me, compounded by the fact that I've started to feel nauseous again. Carolyn says that's normal; my body is preparing itself for childbirth, evinced by the daily Braxton Hicks contractions.

Oh yay. I can hardly wait.

My blood pressure is up. I'm booked in for twice weekly checkups until Birth-day. Marvelous.

I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever see my ankle bones again, in fact I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever see my legs again.

My breasts are now an entirely separate entity to me. They point where they please (frequently in different directions) and have started to leak milk at the most inconvenient times. General Vidrine was polite enough not to mention the staining on my shirt during a briefing yesterday... with six other officers. Carolyn was so pleased (?!) She drew out (you don't want to know how, trust me) some of the thin, whitish fluid (she called it colostrum?) and had it tested for Naquadah. There isn't any, apparently, at least at the moment.

So if I want to nurse, I can.

I'm not sure about that yet. From what I saw of breast milk, I would be ordering a steak with fries on the side if I were Baby. I just can't see that nursing is a very Carter thing to do and certainly not compatible with returning to work. Having said that, I looked into formula and bottles and sterilizing and I'm beginning to think that the two PhDs and the Geiger prize for Physics2 aren't enough. Also, I'm sick of wearing undergarments that are fashioned in the style of the San Francisco Bay Bridge... even if they are comfortable.

Oh! I've been snagging photos of you from friends because I am now compiling don't you dare laugh a scrapbook. Your Soldier Sam is turning into a paper crafter. Oy! I said no laughing!! The scrapbook is for… you, I guess. Or maybe Baby can have it when they're older. 'This is Dad in East Germany, this is Dad in Iraq, this is Mom and Dad on a sneaky weekend to Vegas', etc. I hope that you don't mind, but I borrowed those photos of Charlie that you had stuck inside your locker. You know that the master-at-arms has to break into the lockers after a week of MIA to ensure nothing perishable has been left in there and she's had your belongings in the safe ever since. She did ask if I would like the rest of the things, but I said no. Not yet. I didn't enjoy the look of sympathy, but what would I do if I were in her shoes and she in mine? I just wanted photos of baby's big brother; I thought that would be right. I hope I am.

I wish I had more photos of you as a boy. I stuck my neck out and called Sara on the off-chance she might have some. She's going to have a look, but she knows that you threw loads of memorabilia out when your mom passed away. We had a chat, a nice chat, actually. She's been appointed deputy principal at Cedar Heights High! Some good news for a change.

Wow. I've just had a really strong contraction! I'm waiting for another, but nothing yet. I hope I don't go into labor tonight – Cassie is throwing me a baby shower tomorrow!

Carter – Sam – whatever

October 7th 2007 – My house

Well, no baby, but a mountain of gifts.

Jack, we have some amazing friends. Sure, it was a girly baby shower, but the guys came as well – you know which ones. However, they tended to hang around outside on the patio even if it is getting colder – I think that may have had something to do with the games we played. "Hold the kewpie doll & cell phone and do the laundry at the same time" on a stopwatch.

Relax, I only dropped the kid twice. Apparently they bounce!

We also had drinks (sadly no Guinness cocktails) with ice cubes containing plastic babies. When the ice melted we had to yell out MY WATERS HAVE BROKEN! Haha!

Cassie was there, she took a sneaky weekend off UCLA. Thankfully, she is well into her second year (and enjoying it) and I have persuaded her that neither you nor I would be happy about her dropping out. She made the most beautiful of cushions for the nursery; woven using that intricate ribbon technique that the people of Hanka were so good at. I love her so much.

We had so many other gifts, and gift certificates, Jack, I wish you were here for the millionth time.

Sam

xxxxxx

October 16th 2007 – My house

I'm tired, so I'll keep this brief.

My BP is up, so my working hours are down. I don't have the strength to argue so I've let it slide. I have no idea how I'm going to manage to push a baby out as I can't even manage down the hall to the bathroom.

A good night's sleep is a dim and distant memory – again, I have no idea how I'm going to cope with the 2am and 4am and 6am feeds.

I've lost all interest in food although I'm huge, absolutely massive. I just want to give birth and get it over with.

Is it the 27th yet?

Sam

October 20th 2007 – My house

T-minus 7 days and counting

S

x

October 27th 2007 – My house

FINALLY!!

I've been having so many practice contractions; surely the baby will come today!

My bags are all packed and the hospital is ready and waiting. I'll be delivering at the Academy Hospital. It's the best of both worlds (i.e. a delivery suite and some Carter-special A+). A home birth is out of the question because of a list of reasons longer than one of Daniel's briefings. I'm not sure I'd want to anyway. I've read more than I care to about labor and I kinda fancy being upright. We practice positions in my pre-natal classes, and it just feels the best position for me. I guess it's not going to happen.

Sam

xxxx

October 28th 2007 – SGC

Still pregnant.

I came into work. I thought I might as well because I'm bored stiff at home.

Oprah re-runs could send any sane person ga-ga.

S

x

October 29th 2007 – SGC

Still pregnant.

I had a dream that the baby was here, and so were you.

It was so hard not to cry when I woke and realized that neither was true.

I love you

xxxxx

October 31st 2007 

Still pregnant.

I had the day off work and I decided I didn't like the nursery the way it was, so I moved it around.

And now I just want to DIE.

I've also nibbled too much of the Trick or Treat-ers candies (It's Halloween!) and I've just been sick.. again.

Still not crying.

Sam

xxxxxx

November 2nd 2007 

Still pregnant.

I'm scared I've really screwed up my back – it hurts like hell! Right at the base of my spine.

Carolyn made a house call and we talked about inducing me; she can see that I've had enough although my BP is stable. I would have said no a month ago; I wanted a natural birth for the baby but now I just want the baby OUT.

Sam The Whale xxxxx

Sunday, November 4th 2007 - SGC 

Still pregnant.

Although, bizarrely, I feel better today. My back is still sore but I can breathe a bit easier – it must be the cooler weather. I got up, had a hot bath, pottered around, thought about my latest project and thought, what the hell – I drove into work!

And here I am, and so is Siler. He came in to run a calibration on a new ion generator. An old project from the Tollan that we dusted off. He's a sweetie and has gone to get me lunch; I've got a bit of my appetite back!

I'll write more when I get home.

Sam

xxxx


	11. Chapter 11

Monday, Nov 5th, 2007

Jack, it's Daniel.

Yeah, I know, not who you were expecting, but me anyway.

Now, if any of this doesn't come out right, you'll just have to stick with me because I've been up since 3am, it's now 11.30pm or something and I haven't had nearly enough coffee, okay?

I can't congratulate you enough – you are dad to a beautiful, strong, gorgeous, **loud** infant!

Did I mention beautiful? And LOUD.

And perfect, Jack, absolutely perfect, no problems at all. Sam is also fine, very tired, a bit sore but incredibly, radiantly happy and they are both sleeping right now.

She asked me to get this down because there was no way she could manage it today and there is so much to say.

Believe me, there is so very much to say.

Let me get coffee.

By the way, I promised Sam I wouldn't look at any of her past entries and although it's tempting, I won't.

I'll have to start where I think she left off.

Which was yesterday. Yes, she was at the CMC on a Sunday. Don't get mad – she wasn't in for long, but she and Siler were calibrating an ion resonator – a doohickey to you - and they needed the lab when it wasn't going to be busy.

I'm assuming that you know already that the baby is late... it was due on Oct 27th ...and we're waiting. By the way, you should be aware that Sam has been taking very good care of herself, and she's had quite a bit to deal with, you being MBK and everything. I wish more than ever that you had been here to witness her determination and strength these past few months and after what I witnessed today, I am in awe of her.

Jack O'Neill, you are one damn lucky man.

Meanwhile, back at the lab, Sam's back is playing up – Siler tries heat packs, chocolate and back rubs to no avail. Eventually, Sam calls it a day and Siler calls me right after she leaves and tells me to be on Sam-delivery-watch (you may recall, he has six kids).

I get some shuteye, no fire, boots on, and I do indeed-y get a call at 0302 hours from a very breathless, soon-to-be-mother-of-your-child explaining quite rationally in between gasps that she was halfway to the Academy hospital but has turned off to Cheyenne instead as the baby is coming. Like now. Can I please (please? She says please when she's in hard labor!) call Dr Lam and meet her there?

After I get hold of Carolyn (thankfully she's already at the base on duty), I grab the video camera along with my Cruiser keys and I think I must have broke every speed limit on the planet and a few that aren't to get the CMC... the gate guards are waiting for me and wave me through with lots of pointing. If they're rattled... crap... I spot Sam's Volvo almost immediately, mainly because half the medical staff are clustered around it... I think I did swear at that point. And pray.

Parking was interesting – I hit General Ashbee's Hummer. My passenger side is caved right in and he's lost a few paint scrapings, so no biggie. I jump out, remember the camera, and do the two minute mile over to Sam (and you know I don't do running). Sam is white as a sheet and obviously in pain. Carolyn is trying to entice Sam into a wheelchair, but every time she (Sam) sits down, she gets up again – the pain is coming in waves and she feels she wants to walk. Carolyn gives up and gets Steve (big guy nurse, dark hair, comes in handy when one of us gets possessed by aliens again) and me to help her across the parking lot and into the elevators. I look behind us and we're being followed by the nursing staff like we're the Pied Piper of Hamlyn (Germanic urban myth, I'll explain it to you one time).

Sam is leaning on me with each contraction – every three minutes and getting her out of the main elevator and across to the SGC elevator is a problem. She's pale, out of breath and sweating heavily by this point but not making much noise – I can tell Carolyn is really, really worried.

I love your girlfriend more than I can say at this point.

At last we're on level 21 and about fifty paces from the infirmary. Sam suddenly pulls away from me and starts to squat! My heart rate hits the roof and Carolyn calmly says something like; "Colonel Carter, it's way too cold to have your baby in the corridor!"

The look on Sam's face is nothing short of desperate. I don't know how we managed it, but Steve and I grab her arms and get her into the infirmary and over to a bed... Carolyn is barking orders (she's scary when she's in charge) and there's people running everywhere.

And then I hear her.

Sam has bent herself over the hospital bed, one hand is on her stomach and the other grabs the sheets and begins to pull... she must have been in so much pain... she's whimpering. What an awful sound – I'd preferred her screaming and cursing.

She was saying your name, Jack. Begging you to help her. Asking you to save the baby.

I remembered the video recorder and I tried to video, but my hands are shaking - I had to turn away, I was almost overcome with what you would call sloppy stuff. Then Becky Rush is all business (did you know she was a qualified midwife as well as an RN?) and is asking Sam about pain relief, she can't get an answer – I think Sam was having a contraction? Becky manages to ease her maternity pants down and does a quick internal exam, and coolly announces that Colonel Carter is fully dilated and pushing and if I'm staying, will I please not get in the way?

Steve is shoring up Sam from the side, Becky is giving gas and air, and Carolyn is at the business end, calling for - dear Lord - a flashlight. It became clear to me that Sam is going to have your baby, YOUR baby – standing up. I've delivered three babies now, and all the moms have been so considerate as to lie down... standing up is something else. I'm filming all this very badly and then remember to call encouragement to Sam, who is drenched in sweat by this time.

I don't think I'd ever heard her use the F-word before, until then. It was something about putting the fckng camera down and helping... so I did.

She wants her top off, it's stuck to her with sweat at that point, and whatever madam wants, madam gets, so I do the honors before she leans back over the bed, now with only her brassiere on. Her hair, longer now than you will remember it, is plastered to her head, there are two very bright red spots on her cheeks, but the rest of her is so pale... she's clutching the same sheet with that same hand. I wish I could help her, I wish I could make it all go away and yet I'm desperate to see my niece or nephew. I stand on the other side, smooth her hair and rub her neck, Carolyn is angling the flashlight up towards Sam's tusch, and Becky is readying forceps in a towel.

The reality of Samantha Carter – the girl I've virtually grown up with – one of the original SG1 – soldier, scientist, superwoman – about to bring a child into the world, about to become a mother - I was so afraid for her at that moment.

I can feel the power with which the contractions are gripping her; tight ripples across her skin, radiating over her body to where I'm holding her hand. She's sweating and gasping and pushing and I swear, I'm sweating and gasping and pushing along with her.

Then I hear her again.

Asking you to save the baby. YOU.

It breaks my heart, Jack.

Carolyn hears her and she's saying that's not necessary, that the baby will be here any minute because she can see lots of ginger hair (GINGER!) and can Colonel Carter please concentrate to get her breathing under control? Perhaps it was fortuitous that Dr Lam was not within a good punching angle.

I think Sam is using every one of her muscles in an effort to get the baby out. All I can see is her eyes, looking up at me, full of pain and fear.

I'm really scared at that point.

Sam takes a sharp breath in… my hand is crushed beyond all feeling... her eyes squeeze tight shut

ohmythebabyiscoming

There's a flurry of activity at the end that I can't see – then a noise like a small pop and the sound of liquid hitting the infirmary floor, two more pushes and Becky and Carolyn are all arms and towels and whoa!

Becky's got this bundle in her arms – I can see a bit of skin and blood wrapped in a blanket and Carolyn's saying something about suction and now I'm actually terrified. There's no noise coming from the child!

The crushing sensation round my hand lessens and I realize that Steve is lowering Sam onto an infirmary chair swathed in yet more towels. Why isn't the baby making a noise?!

Becky is rubbing the baby's face and Carolyn is doing something with a small plastic tube.

"Please." A plea. From Sam. So tired. Her arms are outstretched towards the pathetic muddle of cloth and child but everyone looks so serious.

I can't bear this. I couldn't endure losing one more child in my life.

The bundle is put into Sam's arms...

.. but then I hear the sweetest music.

Not Angels.

Not Baroque.

The sound of a tiny baby screaming its head off and Sam sobbing with happiness.

If I never live another day, I will die (again) with the knowledge that I was present at the most personal and sacred of human events. It happens everyday, every minute, all over the planet, where a new life joins the human race with all its hopes, failings, frailties and ingenuity.

I am overwhelmed.

Steve is sniffing, Becky is grinning like an idiot while she expertly clamps the umbilical cord and even Carolyn's eyes are suspiciously bright. "Would you like to cut the cord?" she announces.

Me?

I look to Sam for confirmation. Her face is pink, her eyes scream exhaustion, but she's laughing and nodding, so I take the medical scissors and I do just that.

snip

You're on your own now, kiddo.

Wait! What am I like?!

"Sam!"

Everyone looks me.

"What is it?!" I don't know yet!

Sam is smiling that blinding grin of hers and pulls away a little more of the towel.

Oh boy. "He takes after Jack, alright!" I announce loudly.

The laughter and the tears that follow are sweet.

You have a son. He's perfect. And sleeping.

Congratulations.

SJSJSJSJSJSJSJ

A few hours later, there's quite a crowd gathering outside the infirmary. Carolyn Lam is trying to ignore it, but she has her own way of running her sickbay and contending with Sam-fangirls and boys is not something she is entirely happy about, especially since an SGC birth was unexpected.

There is a solution. I've been filming Sam trying to give your son his first breastfeed but it didn't go as well as she'd hoped. Becky is reassuring: it's all about finding the best position and they'll both learn from each other. Although Sam has managed a quick shower while the baby was asleep, she is looking totally worn out now and it's obvious from the dark circles that she isn't going to last much longer and visitors are a no-no.

I take matters into my own hands.

"Sam, why don't I take him and show him off a bit? That'll make everyone happy." I turn off the video camera and start packing it away so she takes the hint.

The new mother is gazing into her son's eyes. "No, I want him here with me; they can come in one by one now I look more like a human being."

Carolyn is hovering and we exchange glances. Mom needs to rest. "They can come back tomorrow. All they want at the moment is a quick peek and that will be enough."

Junior seems to have dozed off, one strong fist balled in his mouth. Sam is fingering a pale blue crocheted blanket that Wendy Mitchell sent which is wrapped around her baby's tiny body and strokes his hand that sports surprising long fingernails. "Oh, alright, but not long; just a few minutes."

Ha! "Okay." I hitch round to Sam's side and lift the mass of baby and blanket into my arms. I love that feeling of holding a baby and he's so pretty – I felt quite broody myself!

Sam falters. "And only you are to hold him. Pass the parcel will have to wait for another day."

I nod. "Gotcha."

"Two minutes and he's back with me." Okay. I do what mom says, little one, she's the boss.

I'm half-way through the privacy curtain when a thought strikes me. "Sam?"

"Mmm?" The kid won't be the only one asleep soon.

"Can I tell them his name?" I hold him tighter.

She yawns, lashes dark against her pale skin. "Sure."

I carry the precious, cherished life out to his well wishers. Sure enough, the 'oohs' and 'aahs' are an indicator of one who will win many hearts in the future.

I hitch him up slightly so our friends can get a better view. His eyes squint open a little; so he wasn't asleep. "Faker," I whisper over his head. So many friends. Hank, George, Cameron, Cassie, even Siler and Harriman and many others standing respectfully at the back. Some people are missing though, so there is sadness here too.

I stand holding your son and regard these lives that you and Sam have enriched and saved and brought happiness to, and muse over the journey that has brought us all to this point.

So much love.

And in the end, that's what it's all about, because in the end, that's the only thing that carries the hope down through the years.

I clear my throat and I swear your son glares at me. I know I've seen that look before. I think I was pretending to be the Wizard of Oz at the time…

I pull the delicate blanket a little further away from the baby's face, mindful of any chill on the newborn's skin.

"Hello friends. Meet Jonathan Jacob Carter O'Neill, son of Jack and Sam."

Love.

It's the thing that carries the hope.

The End


	12. Chapter 12

SJSJSJSJSJSJ

If he tried really hard, he could just about remember her.

The smell of her after they made love, her perfect teeth (damn her) and the adorable crows feet when she smiled.

When they began beating the crap out him again, he wondered if he would remember her when he was dead.

SJSJSJSJSJSJ

So many of you asked - Aud has written a sequel to Naquadah Tipped Warheads called _The General, The Colonel, their Child and His Mother_ posted now on here.

I thank everyone for their support – I really appreciate it xx


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